POEMS 

BY 

HARRIET  WINSLOW  SEWALL 

WITH   A   MEMOIR   BY 
EDNAH  D.  CHENEY 


CAMBRIDGE 
Printed  at  iljr  Bibercifce  Press 

1889 


Copyright,  1889, 
BY  LUCY  E.  SE\VALL  AND  LOUISA  S.  CABOT. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  II.  0.  Houghton  &  Company. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

MEMOIR    OF    HARRIET    WINSLOW    SEWALL. 

BY  EDNAH  D.  CHENEY vii 

POEMS  TO  S.  E.  S. 

SONG 3 

To  MY  DEAREST  FRIEND 5 

To  S.  E.  S 7 

I  LOVE  THEE 9 

DEPARTURE 11 

IN  MEMORY  OF  S.  E.  S 15 

SENTIMENT. 

WHY  THUS  LONGING  ? 19 

''  FOR    BEHOLD    THE    KINGDOM   OF   GOD   IS    WITHIN 

YOU" 22 

SUPPLICATION 25 

WORLDLY-MlNDEDNESS 27 

MEMORIES 29 

LOVE  31 


iv  CONTENTS. 

ASPIRATION „  32 

PESSIMIST        .........  34 

OPTIMIST ,  38 

DREAM-LAND 41 

UNDINE 44 

AFTER  READING  "THE  RAVEN"          ....  47 

WINTER  NIGHTS 51 

REMINISCENCES  OF  CHILDHOOD 54 

POEM    BEAD    AT    THE    RECEPTION    FOR   MRS.   LUCY 

STONE 58 

A.  W.  M 60 

H.  M.  P 61 

To  HARRIET 62 

LUCRETIA  MOTT   AND   LYDIA   MARIA   CHILD         .            •  64 

CONSOLA 66 

NATURE. 

MORNING  AND  NIGHT 75 

MORNING 80 

THE  ROSE 81,  83 

THE  COLUMBINE .86 

THE  WOODS  OF  MELROSE 91 

THE  FLOWER  HUNT 92 

SEPTEMBER 100 

AUTUMN 102 

WINTER'S  TRIUMPH    .                 104 


CONTENTS.  V 

FANCY. 

LITTLE  MARGERY Ill 

To  E.  F 113 

REPLY  TO  A  VALENTINE   .                 .         ...  114 

TEN  LITTLE  HUMMING-BIRDS 116 

MY  WINGS 118 

CHARADE 121 

CHRISTMAS  CARDS                123 


HARRIET   WINSLOW  SEWALL. 


WHEN  the  roses  of  summer  droop  before  the 
heats  of  August  or  the  coming  frosts  of  autumn, 
we  gather  the  fair  and  perfumed  petals  and  pre 
serve  them  in  a  rare  and  costly  vase,  that  the 
fragrance  may  remain  with  us  through  the  dark, 
cold  days  of  winter.  So,  when  a  being  as  fair, 
pure,  and  beautiful  as  the  summer  roses  she 
loved  so  dearly  passes  from  our  earthly  sight, 
we  long  to  gather  up  the  leaves  that  have  fallen 
and  preserve  her  memory  ever  with  us. 

I  low  little  of  all  the  varied  melody  of  her 
life  is  phonographed  on  these  few  papers  which 
are  left  to  us  !  And  yet,  when  these  characters 
from  her  hand  find  a  chord  so  delicately  tuned 
that  it  can  vibrate  in  unison,  the  voice  of  the 


yiii          HARRIET   WINSLOW  SEW  ALL. 

song  will  again  be  heard,  and  young  hearts  will 
thrill  to  the  music  of  her  life,  while  those  who 
have  listened  to  these  poems  from  her  own  lips 
will  hear  again  that  trembling  cadence  which 
gave  expression  to  every  shade  of  thought. 

We  treasure  all  that  remains  to  us  of  this 
rare  and  exquisite,  this  "unique"  product  of 
Nature.  Harriet  Winslow  Sewall  seems  to  have 
won  from  long  lines  of  life,  purity,  fineness, 
grace,  and  tenderness,  blended  with  transparent 
truth  and  fidelity  to  right  and  duty.  We  can 
hardly  think  of  her  alone,  but  see  at  her  side  the 
venerable  figure  of  her  husband,  writh  whom  she 
lived  in  ever-deepening  love  and  trust  for  more 
than  thirty  years.  Strength  and  beauty,  cour 
age  and  tenderness,  were  so  blended  in  them 
that  respect  and  love  were  their  equal  and  im 
mediate  tribute. 

We  seek  to  know  the  origin  of  a  being  so 
gifted  and  so  harmonious.  Harriet  Winslow 
was  born  in  Portland,  June  30,  1819.  She 
was  the  youngest  daughter  of  Nathan  and  Com- 


HARRIET    WINSLOW  SEW  ALL.  ix 

fort  Ilussey  Winslow,  who  were  both  of  Quaker 
origin.  Thankful  Hussey,  the  grandmother,  was 
a  noted  Quaker  preacher.  Harriet  was  brought 
up  in  the  Society  of  Friends,  in  that  atmosphere 
of  serene  piety  and  pure  morality  which  distin 
guishes  households  of  that  persuasion.  She  at 
tended  school  in  Portland,  and  also  the  Friends' 
boarding-school  in  Providence.  But  while  some 
thing  of  the  sweet  influences  of  Quakerism 
always  lingered  about  her,  in  the  quiet  uncon 
sciousness  of  her  manners  and  the  direct  sim 
plicity  of  her  thought,  she  was  by  no  means  fet 
tered  by  the  severe  restrictions  of  her  sect,  but 
her  earliest  conscious  life  flowed  out  into  beauty 
and  song  as  naturally  as  that  of  the  flowers  and 
the  birds.  The  beautiful  world  about  her  was 
a  never-failing  source  of  delight,  and  harmony 
in  her  dress  and  all  the  appointments  of  her 
life  a  necessity  to  her.  She  never  lost  her  de 
light  in  the  "  poetry  of  motion,"  and  dancing 
was  a  relief  when  she  was  lonely  or  sad.  Some 
pleasant  verses  by  Miss  Whittier  show  how  her 


x  HARRIET   WINSLOW  SEW  ALL. 

friends  felt  about  the   defection  of  the  sisters 
from  the  Friends'  society  :  — 

A     LAMENT      FOR     THE      GRAND-DAUGHTERS     OF     THANKFUL 
HUSSEY. 

Where  now  is  our  Louisa  ?  1 
Where  now  is  our  Louisa  ? 
Where  now  is  our  Louisa  ? 

Wandered  from  the  Quaker  rest. 

She  went  out  by  habeas  corpus, 
She  went  out  by  habeas  corpus, 
She  went  out  by  habeas  corpus, 

From  the  Quaker  fold  and  rest. 

Where  now  is  Lucy  Ellen  ? 
Where  now  is  Lucy  Ellen  ? 
Where  now  is  Lucy  Ellen  ? 

Stolen  from  the  Quaker  rest. 

She  went  out  by  the  guile  o'  Foxes,2 
She  went  out  by  the  guile  o'  Foxes, 
She  went  out  by  the  guile  o'  Foxes, 

Stolen  from  the  Quaker  rest. 

1  Married  to  a  lawyer,  Samuel  E.  Sewall,  Esq. 

2  Married  to  Mr.  (afterwards  Judge)  Edward  Fox. 


HARRIET   WINSLOW  SEWALL.  xi 

Where  now  is  sister  Hatty  ? l 
Where  now  is  sister  Hatty  ? 
Where  now  is  sister  Hatty  ? 

Wandering-  from  the  Quaker  rest. 

She  '11  go  out  from  Falmouth  Quarter, 
She  '11  go  out  from  Falmouth  Quarter, 
She  '11  go  out  from  Falmouth  Quarter, 

Dancing  from  the  Quaker  rest. 

Where  now  are  the  three  sisters  ? 
Where  now  are  the  three  sisters  ? 
Where  now  are  the  three  sisters  ? 

Wanderers  from  the  Quaker  rest. 

By  and  hy  they  '11  all  be  turning, 
By  and  by  they  '11  all  be  turning, 
By  and  by  they  '11  all  be  turning, 

Wearied,  to  the  Quaker  rest. 
Fifth  day  eve'g,  31  st. 

Her  girlhood  in  her  father's  home  was  rich 
and  happy.  She  entered  into  the  intellectual 
life  of  the  "  Transcendental  "  period,  and  writes 
of  the  poems  that  were  dear  to  her.  She  was  at 
tracted  by  the  weird  influences  of  animal  mag- 
1  Afterwards  Harriet  Winslow  Sewall. 


xii  HARRIET   WIN  SLOW  SEW  ALL, 

netism,  and  is  disposed  rather  to  accept  than  to 
criticise  and  reject.  She  writes  in  1842  :  "  But 
to  return  to  magnetism.  It  is  a  subject  in  which 
I  am  exceedingly  interested.  How  can  any  one 
laugh  at  it?  It  opens  a  door  to  higher  re 
gions.  I  have  been  reading  Townsend's  book. 
The  Americans  must  be  deficient  in  some  es 
sential  faculty  that  they  can  be  so  insensible  on 
such  an  interesting  subject.  Some  ridicule  it, 
others  fear  it.  They  regard  it  as  coming  from 
the  Devil,  and  contrary  to  all  the  laws  of  Na 
ture.  As  if  all  the  laws  of  Nature  had  ever 
been  discovered !  Why,  there  are  more  things 
in  heaven  and  earth  than  common  philosophy 
ever  dreams  of.  Have  we  become  so  all-wise 
that  we  should  be  no  longer  seekers  ?  If  past 
ages  had  done  the  same,  where  would  be  our 
present  improvements  ?  You  think  of  Tran 
scendentalism  as  of  some  horrid  bugbear,  which 
is  in  truth  one  of  your  own  creating.  You 
speak  of  their  God  and  the  Christians'  as  two 
different  things.  Oh,  believe  me,  we  are  all 


HARRIET   WIN  SLOW  SEW  ALL.  xiii 

seeking  after  the  one  true  God.  I  trust  we 
shall  all  find  Him  sooner  or  later,  though  we 
may  take  different  paths.  I  am  grateful,  dear 
Harriet,  for  your  kind  admonition.  I  know  I  am 
erring  and  weak,  but  do  not  attribute  my  fail 
ings  to  Transcendentalism.  Inasmuch  as  I  am 
not  holy,  I  am  not  transcendental.  Yet  oh,  how 
I  love  holiness,  how  I  love  purity !  and  loving 
and  aspiring  as  I  do,  may  I  not  hope  to  be  some 
thing  better  ?  If  I  cannot  go  to  heaven,  I  will 
go  no  other  way  ;  that  I  am  resolved." 

But  she  does  not  lose  herself  in  speculation. 
The  stern  demands  upon  conscience  from  the 
anti  -  slavery  movement  had  a  bracing  effect, 
which  saved  many  a  young  soul  from  becoming 
lost  in  fancy  and  sentimentalism. 

Her  early  interest  in  the  woman  movement 
is  shown  by  a  burlesque  letter  written  to  Mr. 
Sewall  in  1838  in  the  name  of  her  baby  niece. 
Her  sister,  the  wife  of  Mr.  Sewall,  had  been 
obliged  to  attend  some  case  in  court  as  a  witness, 
and  the  baby  thus  complains  :  — 


xiv          HARRIET   W1NSLOW  SEWALL. 

PORTLAND. 

MY  DEAR  PAPA,  —  I  have  been  strongly  impressed 
for  the  last  week  with  the  fallacy  of  Miss  Martineau's 
reasoning,  and  all  the  new-fangled  notions  about  wo 
man's  rights  and  woman's  sphere ;  and  finding  it 
impossible  to  induce  any  one  here  to  listen  to  good 
common  sense,  I  turn  to  you,  dear  papa,  as  a  last  re 
source.  Things  are  going  on  here  which  meet  my 
decided  disapprobation.  Here  is  mamma  day  after 
day  going  to  court,  and  coming  home  with  her  head 
full  of  pleas,  and  charges,  and  evidence,  and  juries, 
etc.,  etc.,  so  that  she  can  talk  about  nothing  else.  It 
is  just  so  with  all  the  other  women.  They  are  leav 
ing  their  appropriate  sphere  and  meddling  with  affairs 
they  do  not  understand,  and  I  assure  you,  dear  papa, 
this  state  of  things  is  a  great  shock  to  my  intuitive 
ideas  of  female  propriety.  And  to  think  my  dear 
mamma  should  be  so  misled  ! 

When  she  goes  out,  I  cling  to  her  and  say,  "  Baby 
too,  baby  too,"  but  all  in  vain.  She  tells  me  she  is 
going  to  court  and  gives  me  over  to  Aunt  Hatty,  who 
I  confess  does  not  disgrace  her  sex  so  shamelessly  as 
the  rest.  I  write  to  warn  you,  my  dear  papa,  for 
I  strongly  suspect  that  when  mamma  goes  home  she 


HARRIET    WINSLOW  SEW  ALL.  xv 

intends  to  place  you  in  the  nursery  to  take  care  of 
me,  and  attend  to  the  other  female  duties,  and  will 
take  all  your  business  into  her  own  hands. 

She  will  attribute  this  usurpation,  I  dare  say,  to  a 
regard  for  your  health,  for  she  complains  daily  of 
the  bad  air  at  the  court-house,  and  wonders  how  you 
have  been  able  to  endure  it.  I  have  no  doubt  she 
compassionates  you,  but  do  not  be  deceived,  for  I 
have  an  innate  horror  of  seeing  a  woman  rule  over 
her  husband.  How  mortified  I  should  be,  on  my 
return  to  Boston,  when  any  one  should  inquire  for 
mamma !  I  should  have  to  say,  "  Mamma  is  gone 
to  office  ;  "  and  when  they  asked  for  papa  I  should 
have  to  reply,  "  He  is  mending  mamma's  clothes." 
Oil  the  degeneracy  of  womankind !  But  I  will  not 
dwell  longer  on  this  painful  subject. 

I  begin  to  have  a  better  opinion  of  phrenology  and 
of  Mr.  Combe.  His  ideas  upon  education  are  very 
fine,  and  evince  a  great  deal  of  observation  ;  particu 
larly  the  management  of  children,  if  I  have  heard 
mamma  state  them  rightly.  He  thinks  the  com- 
bativeness  and  destructiveness  of  children  should 
never  be  exoited  by  contradiction  or  by  crosses  of 
any  kind,  and  I  agree  with  him  exactly.  I  think  he 


xvi  HARRIET    WINSLOW  SEW  ALL. 

must  have  been  a  child  himself  once.  For  myself,  I 
always  feel  a  propensity  to  scream  and  kick  when  my 
wishes  are  not  attended  to,  as  the  only  way  of  en 
forcing  obedience  ;  and  I  am  sure  it  would  be  much 
better  policy  to  attend  to  me  at  first,  and  save  me  all 
the  expense  of  tears  and  muscular  effort. 

I  long  to  see  you  very  much,  my  dear  papa,  and 
to  kiss  you.  I  shall  have  many  wonderful  things  to 
tell  you  when  I  return,  and  many  pretty  things  to 
show.  One  thing  which  fills  me  with  astonishment 
is  that,  notwithstanding  my  extensive  knowledge  and 
acquirements,  there  is  not  a  day  passes  but  I  learn 
something  new.  I  am  ready  to  exclaim,  "What  can 
not  woman's  intellect  grasp  !  " 

I  send  a  great  deal  of  love  to  grandpa  and  to 
Aunt  Hannah.  Mamma  has  just  come  from  court, 
and  I  must  bid  you  by-by. 

LUCY  ELLEN'  SEWALL. 

This  letter  recalls  an  interesting  feature  of 
the  great  Presidential  struggle  of  1840  :  — 

PORTLAND  [August  or  September],  1840. 
DEAR  LOUISA,  —  We  have  had  a  great  Whig  con 
vention  here,  and  all  the  Whig  houses  were  full  of  the 


HARRIET   W1NSLOW  SEW  ALL.          xvii 

delegates,  so  we  came  in  for  a  small  share.  From 
early  in  the  morning  the  town  was  as  busy  as  a  bee 
hive,  with  the  rattling  of  all  sorts  of  vehicles,  and 
the  continual  ingress  of  countrymen  and  strangers. 
The  Thorn  came  from  Brunswick  with  four  hundred 
passengers  on  board.  I  wonder  where  they  got  the 
wherewithal  to  feed  them.  We  were  honored  with 
seven  to  dine  with  us,  four  of  them  modest  young 
men,  whom  perhaps  you  might  have  induced  to  talk, 
but  I  could  not.  They  were  as  dumb  as  puppets, 
and  came  and  went  without  making  a  very  deep  im 
pression  on  anybody.  How  I  wished  you  were  here 
to  bring  out  their  inner  man  !  The  ladies  here  take 
an  unusual  interest  in  politics,  and  run  to  hear  the 
great  speakers,  and  talk  very  learnedly  about  mat 
ters  that  I  cannot  understand.  I  have  not  caught 
the  mania.  I  had  just  curiosity  enough  to  take  a 
peep  at  Erastus  Brooks,  who  was  speechifying  on  the 
State  House  steps  to  the  assembled  multitude  ;  but  I 
was  not  much  electrified,  for  his  voice  did  not  reach 
me,  and  as  I  could  only  see  his  passionate  gestures, 
which  were  not  quite  so  expressive  as  the  "  Invisible 
Harlequin's,"  I  was  rather  moved  to  laughter. 


xviii       HARRIET   WIN  SLOW  SEW  ALL. 

While  Miss  Winslow  delighted  in  every  form 
of  beauty,  the  art  in  which  she  found  expression 
most  easily  was  poetry.  How  early  she  began 
to  voice  her  feelings  in  numbers  we  do  not 
know,  but  some  of  her  verses  which  remain  were 
certainly  written  before  1836,  when  she  was 
seventeen  years  old,  and  the  greater  number  of 
them  within  the  next  twenty-three  years  before 
1859.  Her  most  celebrated  poem,  beginning, 

"  Why  thus  longing,  thus  forever  sighing  ?  " 

which  so  happily  expressed  the  feeling  of  the 
young,  ardent  spirits  of  her  time,  was  written 
during  her  girlhood  and  published  in  1840.  It 
met  with  immediate  response,  and  has  been  in 
cluded  in  all  collections  of  the  best  American 
poetry.  It  is  a  gem  whose  thought  has  crystal 
lized  into  perfect  beauty.  She  thus  speaks  of 
the  publication :  — 

1840. 

...  I  was  surprised  to  see  my  verses  so  soon. 
I  am  glad  you  sent  them,  if  it  were  only  for  the  pleas 
ure  they  gave  to  mother  when  she  read  them  in  print 


HARRIET   WINSLOW  SEW  ALL.  xix 

with  the  accompanying  eulogy.  I  did  not  follow 
your  advice  to  republish  them,  for  I  think  some  of 
the  corrections  are  for  the  better,  and  the  mistakes 
are  so  palpable  that  any  intelligent  reader  would  take 
them  for  such.  In  the  verse  commencing,  "  If  no 
dear  eyes,"  the  measure  was  not  perfect  before,  and 
I  suppose  it  jarred  on  his  poetical  ear,  but  I  think  he 
has  sacrificed  the  sense  to  the  measure.  I  'm  ob 
stinately  opposed  to  those  "fragrant  fields,"  inas 
much  as  the  sense  of  smelling  is  inferior  to  that  of 
seeing.  On  the  whole,  I  made  quite  a  figure  in  the 
"  World,"  did  n't  I  ? 

In  the  summer  of  1848  Miss  Winslow  mar 
ried  a  young  German  who  had  been  in  the  office 
of  Mr.  Sewall.  Charles  List  had  come  to  this 
country  while  still  a  boy,  and  worked  very  hard 
to  acquire  an  education  and  a  profession.  He 
had  fine  intellectual  powers  and  large  literary 
attainments,  and  a  fair  promise  of  success  in  life. 
But  the  bright  hopes  of  the  young  couple  were 
soon  overcast,  for  hardly  had  they  returned  from 
the  wedding  journey  when  symptoms  of  a  fear- 


XX  HARRIET    WINSLOW  SEW  ALL. 

ful  disease,  which  left  no  hope  of  relief  or  cure, 
appeared  in  the  young  husband. 

As  long  as  possible  Mr.  List  toiled  on,  being 
engaged  on  the  "Commonwealth"  newspaper; 
but  he  was  at  last  obliged  to  relinquish  it,  and 
had  no  resource  for  support.  Mrs.  List  made 
every  effort  by  teaching  music  to  sustain  herself 
and  husband,  but,  untrained  to  a  profession,  she 
found  it  impossible.  Pier  father's  means  were 
not  large,  but  he  assisted  her  through  this  try 
ing  period.  The  poor  sufferer  was  either  in  a 
hospital  or  in  a  quiet  country  place.  His  wife 
watched  over  him  devotedly,  reading  to  him  and 
contributing  to  his  comfort  in  every  possible 
way. 

This  playful  letter  to  her  niece  shows  how  she 
found  pleasure  and  amusement  even  in  the  most 
unpromising  surroundings  :  — 

CONGIN,  Monday  [about  1853], 

DEAR  LUCY,  —  I  was  pleased  to  read  such  a  pleas 
ant  account  of  your  Christmas  tree,  but  you  ought  to 
have  mentioned  all  the  presents  that  you  and  Lulu 


HARRIET   WINSLOW  SEW  ALL.  xxi 

had.  I  should  like  to  have  been  there  to  see  the 
children's  delight.  I  found  a  great  deal  of  pleasure 
in  making  the  children  here  some  little  presents,  for 
they  so  seldom  have  any  it  is  a  great  treat  to  them. 
And  they  have  been  so  obliging,  and  so  ready  to  do  us 
any  little  service,  that  I  was  glad  for  an  occasion  to 
give  them  pleasure.  I  am  sorry  to  say  they  some 
times  quarrel  among  themselves,  and  the  older  boys 
tyrannize  too  much  over  the  younger  ones.  It  is  un 
accountable  to  me  that  the  consciousness  of  power 
does  not  bring  a  sentiment  of  forbearance  towards 
the  weak.  It  is  so  mean  to  take  advantage  of  one's 
strength. 

We  had  some  fine  sport  on  the  ice  yesterday.  The 
last  rain  joined  to  the  melting  snow  made  a  beautiful 
pond  on  the  interval,  which  froze  over  and  gave  us 
the  nicest  place  to  slide  you  can  imagine.  It  was 
smooth  as  glass.  After  sliding  on  my  feet  awhile, 
Augustus  brought  along  an  old  waiter,  worn  out  in 
service,  which  he  had  been  trying  to  go  down  hill 
upon,  and  said  he  would  give  me  a  ride.  I  seated  my 
self  on  the  waiter,  and  he  gave  me  one  end  of  his 
scarf  to  hold  and  pulled  with  the  other.  He  is  such 
a  little  fellow  I  did  not  think  he  could  pull  me,  but 


xxii        HARRIET    WINSLOW  SEW  ALL. 

after  we  were  started,  he  had  to  run  fast  to  keep  the 
waiter  from  running  over  him.  So  he  rode  me  all 
round  the  pond.  I  should  have  mentioned  that  Au 
gustus  had  on  rubbers,  which  enabled  him  to  run  with 
out  slipping,  though  the  rest  of  us  could  not.  It  was 
the  nicest  sleigh-ride  I  ever  had.  I  fancied  I  went 
like  a  Laplander  with  a  little  reindeer.  I  got  Mrs. 
Lewis  to  come  out  and  take  a  ride,  too.  Mr.  List  was 
there,  but  only  looked  on.  We  thought  it  would  be 
fine  to  go  out  by  moonlight.  When  the  moon  rises 
over  the  interval  it  makes  a  beautiful  scene.  But  it 
grew  cloudy  at  night,  and  now  our  crystal  pond  is 
covered  with  a  light  snow.  I  wish  I  knew  how  to 
skate.  If  I  thought  I  could  learn  I  would  try. 

Since  I  wrote  you,  I  went  to  a  village  dance  at 
Sacarappa.  We  danced  schottisches,  and  quadrilles, 
and  contra  dances,  and  Spanish,  and  waltzes  ;  in  short, 
all  that  you  find  in  the  big  cities,  and  a  little  more. 
But  we  had  more  room,  and  there  was  more  sociability. 
I  danced  every  dance  but  the  first,  and  felt  very  soon 
acquainted.  The  Lewises'  doctor  was  there,  whom 
I  had  become  some  acquainted  with  from  his  visits  to 
the  family.  He  is  a  very  pleasant  man,  and  I  danced 
with  him  several  times.  Mrs.  Lewis  had  told  him 


HARRIET    W1NSLOW  SEW  ALL.        xxiii 

that  I  did  not  eat  meat,  and  he  said  I  might  enjoy 
tolerable  health,  but  I  could  not  be  so  strong  as  those 
that  used  meat,  to  which  I  replied  by  boasting  that  I 
was  as  strong  as  he.  It  was  the  next  night  I  met  him 
at  the  dance.  When  I  am  dancing  those  dances  that 
have  no  particular  limit  to  them,  like  the  schottische, 
with  gentlemen,  I  always  propose  to  stop  after  a  little 
while,  for  fear  I  may  tire  them  out ;  if  a  lady,  I  know 
she  will  say  if  she  is  tired,  but  a  gentleman  don't  like 
to  confess  it  first.  So  when  I  danced  the  schottische 
with  the  doctor,  after  going  round  the  hall  once,  I 
proposed  to  stop.  He  concluded  I  was  tired,  and 
said  he  was  a  little  so.  I  replied  playfully  that  I  was 
not  tired  at  all,  that  I  never  knew  what  fatigue  was 
in  dancing,  but  I  knew  it  was  not  so  with  meat-eaters, 
and  I  always  stopped  out  of  pity  to  them.  He  re 
membered  his  advice  the  day  before,  and  seemed  to 
enjoy  the  retort.  A  little  while  after,  he  had  been 
waltzing  with  a  lady  and  complained  of  being  dizzy, 
and  asked  me  if  it  was  because  he  ate  meat,  and  said 
he  should  certainly  prepare  himself  for  the  next  dance 
by  a  vegetable  dinner.  I  waltzed  with  a  young  lady 
who  was  the  easiest  person  I  ever  found  to  waltz 
with.  The  music  was  beautiful,  and  I  enjoyed  it  very 


xxii        HARRIET    WINSLOW  SEW  ALL. 

after  we  were  started,  he  had  to  run  fast  to  keep  the 
waiter  from  running  over  him.  So  he  rode  me  all 
round  the  pond.  I  should  have  mentioned  that  Au 
gustus  had  on  rubbers,  which  enabled  him  to  run  with 
out  slipping,  though  the  rest  of  us  could  not.  It  was 
the  nicest  sleigh-ride  I  ever  had.  I  fancied  I  went 
like  a  Laplander  with  a  little  reindeer.  I  got  Mrs. 
Lewis  to  come  out  and  take  a  ride,  too.  Mr.  List  was 
there,  but  only  looked  on.  We  thought  it  would  be 
fine  to  go  out  by  moonlight.  When  the  moon  rises 
over  the  interval  it  makes  a  beautiful  scene.  But  it 
grew  cloudy  at  night,  and  now  our  crystal  pond  is 
covered  with  a  light  snow.  I  wish  I  knew  how  to 
skate.  If  I  thought  I  could  learn  I  would  try. 

Since  I  wrote  you,  I  went  to  a  village  dance  at 
Sacarappa.  We  danced  schottisches,  and  quadrilles, 
and  contra  dances,  and  Spanish,  and  waltzes  ;  in  short, 
all  that  you  find  in  the  big  cities,  and  a  little  more. 
But  we  had  more  room,  and  there  was  more  sociability. 
I  danced  every  dance  but  the  first,  and  felt  very  soon 
acquainted.  The  Lewises'  doctor  was  there,  whom 
I  had  become  some  acquainted  with  from  his  visits  to 
the  family.  He  is  a  very  pleasant  man,  and  I  danced 
with  him  several  times.  Mrs.  Lewis  had  told  him 


HARRIET    W1NSLOW  SEW  ALL.        xxiii 

that  I  did  not  eat  meat,  and  he  said  I  might  enjoy 
tolerable  health,  but  I  could  not  be  so  strong  as  those 
that  used  meat,  to  which  I  replied  by  boasting  that  I 
was  as  strong  as  he.  It  was  the  next  night  I  met  him 
at  the  dance.  When  I  am  dancing  those  dances  that 
have  no  particular  limit  to  them,  like  the  schottische, 
with  gentlemen,  I  always  propose  to  stop  after  a  little 
while,  for  fear  I  may  tire  them  out ;  if  a  lady,  I  know 
she  will  say  if  she  is  tired,  but  a  gentleman  don't  like 
to  confess  it  first.  So  when  I  danced  the  schottische 
with  the  doctor,  after  going  round  the  hall  once,  I 
proposed  to  stop.  He  concluded  I  was  tired,  and 
said  he  was  a  little  so.  I  replied  playfully  that  I  was 
not  tired  at  all,  that  I  never  knew  what  fatigue  was 
in  dancing,  but  I  knew  it  was  not  so  with  meat-eaters, 
and  I  always  stopped  out  of  pity  to  them.  He  re 
membered  his  advice  the  day  before,  and  seemed  to 
enjoy  the  retort.  A  little  while  after,  he  had  been 
waltzing  with  a  lady  and  complained  of  being  dizzy, 
and  asked  me  if  it  was  because  he  ate  meat,  and  said 
he  should  certainly  prepare  himself  for  the  next  dance 
by  a  vegetable  dinner.  I  waltzed  with  a  young  lady 
who  was  the  easiest  person  I  ever  found  to  waltz 
with.  The  music  was  beautiful,  and  I  enjoyed  it  very 


xxiv         HARRIET    WINSLOW   SEWALL. 

much.     One  part  of  the  tune  seemed  to  lift  us  off 
our  feet. 

I  enjoyed  your  account  of  the  picnic  at  Halifax, 
and  sympathized  with  you  very  keenly  when  your 
throat  was  burning  with  the  peppery  hotch-potch. 
Did  you  get  any  salt-fish  while  you  were  gone  ?  Do 
you  have  your  piano  in  town  ?  Give  my  love  to  Mary 
and  Fanny.  HATTY. 

Tliis  paragraph  was  written  at  a  later  period 
but  refers  to  the  time  when,  for  a  few  months, 
she  lived  with  Mr.  List  in  an  almost  unfurnished 
house  in  Pennsylvania  :  — 

[October  or  November,  18G2.] 

DEAR  HATTY,  —  Poverty  certainly  has  its  de 
lights.  I  remember,  in  Pennsylvania,  with  what  gusto 
I  used  to  view  my  dressing-table,  which  was  a  barrel 
turned  upside  down.  Chairs  were  a  great  superflu 
ity.  I  did  not  even  have  a  bed,  and  slept  so  well  I 
have  had  an  enmity  to  beds  ever  since.  Whether  it 
was  the  novelty  of  the  thing  that  made  it  charming,  I 
cannot  say,  but 

"  When  summer  comes,  with  bloom  and  song, 
When  dawns  are  rosy  and  days  are  long," 


HARRIET   WINSLOW  SEW  ALL.          xxv 

I  always  feel  that  I  should  like  to  burn  the  house  up 
and  live  in  the  woods. 

Mrs.  Sewall's  mother,  to  whom  she  was  most 
tenderly  attached,  died  in  1843,  and  soon  after 
her  only  brother.  In  1850  her  sister  Louisa 
(Mrs.  Sewall)  died  very  suddenly.  Mr.  List 
died  in  April,  1856.  Her  last  sister,  Ellen,  a 
very  lovely  person,  died  soon  after  Mr.  List. 
These  bereavements  made  this  the  one  unhappy 
portion  of  her  life.  The  sensitiveness  of  her 
nervous  constitution  caused  her  to  suffer  so 
keenly  from  bereavement  that  her  friends  were 
filled  with  anxiety  for  her  health  ;  but  she  ral 
lied  finally  to  fresh  influences,  and  found  new 
happiness  in  life  after  every  loss.  In  1856  she 
wonders  "  if  heaven  can  be  more  beautiful  than 
earth." 

Mrs.  Sewall  was  very  fond  of  children,  and 
always  liked  to  have  them  about  her.  This  letter 
shows  the  kind  of  family  life  she  longed  for :  — 

Sunday  morning  [1855.] 

MY  DEAR  COUSIN,  —  I  delight  in  a  large  family. 
I  wish  I  could  gather  all  my  relations  together  under 


XXVl         HARRIET   WINSLOW  SEW  ALL. 

one  great  roof ;  then  what  a  formidable  front  \ve  could 
oppose  to  all  evils !  Care  and  sickness  should  not 
enter,  and  Death,  how  could  he  carry  any  one  off  when 
so  many  hands  would  be  ready  to  hold  the  beloved 
one  back !  One  of  my  favorite  castles  in  the  air,  for 
many  years,  has  been  the  building  of  a  great  castle 
on  the  earth,  in  which  money  has  been  of  no  account, 
I  have  had  so  much,  and  in  which  I  have  provided 
the  most  beautiful  accommodations  for  all  my  friends. 
I  assure  thee,  dear  cousin,  there  is  the  most  beautiful 
room  for  thee  there,  and  in  a  little  alcove  the  choicest 
collection  of  books.  If  you  were  in  want  of  pupils, 
I  would  be  one.  I  am  sadly  ignorant  of  many  things, 
and  among  others  would  like  to  study  astronomy  of 
thee.  I  forbear  giving  thee  a  full  description  of  this 
fair  abode,  lest  it  should  make  thee  entirely  dissatisfied 
with  thy  present,  but  thee  must  hold  thyself  in  readi 
ness,  when  my  air  castle  gets  a  solid  foundation,  to 
come  and  live  in  it. 

Such  fair  fruits  shall  adorn  my  table  as  have  never 
been  seen  since  the  days  of  Eden,  and  the  meat  offer 
ings  (for  I  would  not  force  my  friends  into  vegetarian 
ism)  shall  be  so  hidden  by  roses  as  not  to  mar  the 
banquet  by  their  unsightliness.  And  oh,  better  than 


HARRIET    WIN  SLOW  SEW  ALL.        xxvii 

wine  will  be  the  mirth  and  joy  that  goes  round  the 
circle.  But,  alas  !  in  our  "  isolated  households  "  we 
can  have  but  a  poor  idea  of  social  enjoyment. 

But  there  is  one  poor  creature  for  whom  there 
is  no  room  even  in  her  Paradise.  She  goes  on 
to  say  :  — 

I  have  generally  slept  pretty  well,  and  when  I 
have  been  kept  awake  it  has  been  by  mosquitoes.  If 
Dr.  S.  has  any  medicine  that  will  keep  them  off,  do 
beg  him  to  send  it  directly,  or  something  that  will 
put  them  to  sleep.  Their  song  is  worse  than  the 
howling  of  wolves.  I  have  been  very  much  amused 
with  the  book  the  doctor  lent  me,  and  Mr.  Sewall  is 
quite  taken  with  it.  I  have  great  sympathy  with  all 
visionary  people,  and  am  always  half  inclined  to  be 
lieve  the  wildest  things  that  are  strongly  insisted 
upon ;  for  when  we  think  of  this  miracle  of  life,  what 
should  seem  impossible  to  us  ?  Have  we  not  realized 
what  past  generations  deemed  impossible  and  ridicu 
lous  ?  But  I  have  more  faith  in  removing  all  cause 
of  sorrow  from  the  world  than  in  taking  ignatia  to 
cure  it. 

One  of  Mrs.  Sewall's  strongest  traits  was  her 


xxviii      HARRIET    WIN  SLOW  SEW  ALL. 

love  of  nature.  She  drank  in  the  beauty  of  the 
world  at  every  breath.  She  writes  thus  to  her 
niece  :  — 

GERMANTOWN,  PA.,  Sunday  morning,  June  \st. 
DEAR  LUCY,  —  I  think  this  is  the  most  enticing 
season  out-of-doors,  when  everything  is  growing  and 
rejoicing,  and  the  sun  warms  without  melting  you. 
Here  it  is  perfectly  lovely.  I  wonder  if  heaven  can 
be  more  beautiful  than  these  green  spots  of  earth, 
where  trees,  and  flowers,  and  birds,  and  springing 
grass,  and  overarching  sky,  mingling  in  an  endless 
variety  of  ways,  afford  us  ever  new  delight.  They 
talk  of  the  jasper  walls  of  heaven,  as  if  any  Avails 
could  be  so  beautiful  as  these  outlets  into  eternal 
space,  draperied  with  luxuriant  foliage  swaying  in 
the  breeze !  For  curtains  give  me  the  drooping  wil 
lows.  Do  you  remember  those  graceful  groups  of 
willows  by  Church  Lane  and  Mrs.  Pugh's  beautiful 
grounds  ?  How  pleasant  they  make  the  walk  to  the 
depot !  I  wish  there  was  something  of  the  kind  at 
Melrose.  The  moment  I  get  out  of  the  cars  here,  I 
am  refreshed  and  rested  by  the  sight  of  the  shade 
and  foliage. 


HARRIET   WIN  SLOW  SEW  ALL.         xxix 

In  1857  she  was  married  to  Mr.  Sewall,  with 
whom  she  lived  in  the  sweetest  communion  and 
confidence  for  more  than  thirty  years. 

In  18G1  Mrs.  Sewall's  father  died,  leaving 
her  a  moderate  fortune.  She  enjoyed  the  free 
dom  it  gave  her  to  carry  out  her  own  plans,  al 
though  her  generous  husband  was  always  ready 
to  fulfill  her  wishes.  In  1859  we  have  this 
characteristic  passage  on  tragedy :  — 

MELHOSE,  Sunday  afternoon  [1859]. 
MY  DEAR  Cousix,  —  Last  evening  we  read  aloud 
the  third  part  of  "  White  Lies."  I  think  it  has  been 
the  most  entertaining  work  Reade  has  written  so  far, 
and  I  should  extol  it  highly  if  we  had  not  just  come 
to  some  tragedy,  which  I  detest.  As  if  we  had  not 
enough  of  it  in  real  life,  but  must  have  even  our 
amusements  stuffed  with  it !  If  I  were  senator,  I 
would  introduce  a  law  for  the  abolishment  and  an 
nihilation  of  all  tragedies,  and  make  it  a  criminal 
offense  to  write  one. 

She  certainly  did  not  shrink  from  effort  or 
suffering  when  it  came  in  the  path  of  duty,  but 


xxx         HARRIET   W1NSLOW  SEW  ALL. 

her  sensitive  soul  did  not  like  to  dwell  upon  it, 
and  she  would  have  led  mankind  upward  by 
light  and  joy,  rather  than  by  the  stern  discipline 
of  sorrow. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sewall  spent  their  summers  at 
their  beautiful  country  home  at  Melrose,  shar 
ing  in  all  the  interests  of  the  town,  and  in  win 
ter  they  had  apartments  in  Park  Street,  Boston, 
near  Mr.  SewalTs  office  and  the  rooms  of  the 
New  England  Women's  Club,  where  with  sim 
ple,  elegant  hospitality  they  received  their  old 
anti-slavery  friends  and  others,  who  helped  to 
make  their  "  life  the  feast  it  was."  Visits  to 
friends  in  Portland,  Philadelphia,  and  other 
places  broke  the  routine  of  their  lives.  Work 
and  play  were  alike  refreshing  to  them. 

Mrs.  Sewall  occasionally  wrote  poems  through 
these  years,  but  she  never  made  literature  a 
steady  pursuit.  She  had  no  personal  ambition, 
no  aspiration  for  fame,  and  she  expresses  her 
wonder  that  Miss  Landor  could  passionately 
long  for  an  earthly  immortality.  A  few  of  her 


HARRIET    WIN  SLOW  SEW  ALL.         xxxi 

poems  were  printed  in  the  "  Commonwealth " 
when  Mr.  List  edited  it,  but  she  never  took  any 
pains  to  collect  and  publish  them,  and  wrote  only 
from  the  impulse  of  her  own  feeling  or  the  re 
quest  of  friends. 

In  1883  she  collected  and  arranged  the  let 
ters  of  her  friend,  Lydia  Maria  Child,  in  a  most 
satisfactory  manner,  but  would  not  suffer  her 
name  to  appear  on  the  title-page. 

She  engaged  in  philanthropic  work,  and 
showed  an  amount  of  practical  ability  which 
was  a  surprise  to  those  who  had  thought  of  her 
only  as  a  poetic  dreamer. 

Mr.  Sewall's  position  in  regard  to  slavery,  as 
well  as  her  own  feelings,  must  have  made  the 
period  preceding  and  during  the  War  of  Rebel 
lion  one  of  the  greatest  excitement  and  interest. 
This  account  of  the  Festival  of  Emancipation 
shows  what  relief  that  great  event  brought  to 
them  :  — 


xxxii      HARRIET   WINSLOW  SEW  ALL. 

MELROSE,  January  11,  1863. 

I  cannot  write  the  date  of  this  memorable  year, 
dear  Hatty,  without  congratulating  you  and  myself 
and  the  whole  nation  upon  the  great  event  with 
which  it  commences.  What  if  not  a  single  slave  is 
freed  by  it,  we  still  have  the  immense  satisfaction  of 
washing  our  hands  as  a  country  clean  of  the  curse,  of 
feeling  that  we  really  have  a  country  worth  strug 
gling  for.  On  New  Year's  Day  there  was  a  grand 
concert  given  at  Music  Hall  in  honor  of  the  great 
event,  and  the  flower  of  the  State  was  assembled.  We 
had  a  seat  in  the  first  balcony,  not  far  from  the  stage, 
so  that  we  had  a  fine  view  both  of  the  audience  and 
the  performers.  The  entertainment  was  opened  by 
a  poem  from  Emerson,  —  short  but  very  fine.  The 
music  was  very  choice,  vocal  and  instrumental,  some 
of  Beethoven's  finest  pieces,  to  which  his  beautiful 
bronze  statue  with  head  inclined  seemed  attentively 
listening.  In  one  of  the  pauses  it  was  announced 
that  the  proclamation  was  passing  over  the  wires, 
which  was  received  with  immense  cheering.  The 
gentlemen  rose  and  swung  their  hats,  the  ladies 
waved  their  handkerchiefs.  It  was  thrilling  to  see  how 
the  hearts  of  that  great  assembly  seemed  to  beat  as 


HARRIET   WIN  SLOW  SEW  ALL.      xxxiii 

one.  Then  three  cheers  were  proposed  for  Abraham 
Lincoln,  and  three  more  for  William  Lloyd  Garri 
son,  both  of  which  received  an  enthusiastic  response. 
This  was  in  the  afternoon.  In  the  evening  Mr. 
Sewall  and  I  were  invited  to  a  select  party  at  Mr. 
Stearns's,  in  Medford,  where  we  met  Garrison,  Phil 
lips,  Emerson,  Alcott,  Mrs.  Julia  Ward  Howe,  Mrs. 
Severance,  Samuel  Longfellow,  Sanborn,  Brackett  the 
sculptor,  and  a  few  others.  Emerson  read  his  poem 
again,  for  the  benefit  of  some  who  were  too  far  off, 
in  the  afternoon,  to  hear  well.  The  marble  bust  of 
John  Brown,  which  has  been  at  the  Athenaeum  for  a 
long  time,  had  just  been  brought  home,  —  you  know 
Stearns  employed  Brackett  to  take  it.  Mr.  Phillips 
made  a  little  speech  in  honor  of  its  inauguration, 
and  Sanborn  read  a  poem.  I  have  seldom  enjoyed 
any  party  so  much. 

Both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sewall  were  among  the 
first  members  of  the  New  England  Women's 
Club,  founded  in  18G8,  and  in  a  few  years  she 
became  its  treasurer.  She  managed  its  finances 
with  great  skill,  and  by  her  tact  and  economy 
put  them  on  a  firm  footing.  She  also  served  on 


xxxiv       HARRIET    WINSLOW  SEWALL. 

the  business  committee.  A  letter  to  an  absent 
member  of  the  club  gives  a  hint  of  her  work. 
Mr.  Sewall  joked  her  on  her  very  unselfish 
methods  of  business,  but  she  maintained  that  her 
plans  were  good  for  herself,  as  well  as  for  the 
club.  She  wrote  several  occasional  poems,  full 
of  fun  and  satire,  and  often  took  part  in  dis 
cussions,  always  adding  wit  and  wisdom  to  the 
conversation. 

"Mr.  Sewall  always  has  a  sly  laugh  when 
they  praise  my  financial  abilities,  because,  he 
says,  '  I  gave  the  club  the  interest  from  invest 
ments,  and  made  no  account  of  the  stock's  fall 
ing  afterwards ; '  but  the  fact  is,  both  I  and  the 
club  are  richer  for  the  investments." 

In  March,  1873,  Mrs.  Sewall  was  elected  on 
the  school  committee  for  the  town  of  Melrose 
for  the  term  of  one  year,  and  in  March,  1874, 
she  was  reflected  for  three  years,  and  served 
until  December,  1874,  when  she  resigned. 

She  entered  as  heartily  into  the  varied  work 
of  the  Educational  and  Industrial  Union,  espe- 


HARRIET    WINSLOW  SEW  ALL.        xxxv 

cially  the  legal  department  for  the  protection 
of  women  in  contracts  for  labor.  Of  her  private 
charities  we  will  not  speak.  They  are  known, 
as  she  wished  them  to  be,  only  to  the  recipients. 

A  few  extracts  from  her  correspondence  will 
give  some  idea  of  the  course  of  her  life  and 
thoughts :  — 

BOSTON,  June  11,  1874. 

DEAR  HATTY,  —  I  have  not  had  any  chance  to 
commence  another  sheet  of  journal  to  you,  there 
have  been  so  many  letters  to  answer,  but  almost  every 
day  I  have  had  talks  with  you  in  spirit.  How  I  wish 
they  could  be  photographed,  it  would  be  such  a 
saving  of  eyesight  and  time  !  You  would  not  say 
then  that  my  letters  were  short.  .  .  . 

It  was  April  in  temperature  and  the  walking  per 
fectly  dry,  for  many  previous  days  of  rain  and  thaw 
had  carried  off  all  the  snow,  and  had  washed  away 
all  sins  from  the  earth,  I  think,  so  lovely  everything 
and  everybody  looked.  I  went  out  to  see  the  Welds 
in  the  afternoon.  They  seemed  well,  though  Mrs. 
Weld  is  not  strong,  and  I  had  a  delightful  call.  Mr. 
Weld  insisted  upon  returning  to  the  depot  with  me, 


xxxvi      HARRIET    WINSLOW  SEW  ALL. 

and  it  was  a  memorable  walk.  In  addition  to  the 
lovely  day,  which  made  mere  existence  enjoyment, 
Mr.  Weld's  inspiring  words  lifted  me  into  spiritual 
regions.  Our  talk  turned  upon  Miss  Grimke,  and  he 
said  with  such  fervor  that  he  not  merely  believed,  but 
he  knew,  that  her  beautiful  and  noble  life  continued, 
that  I  felt  I  could  trust  to  his  sight,  though  I  my 
self  was  blind.  May  his  life  long  be  spared  to  ele 
vate  the  lives  of  others !  I  went  into  the  Swedenborg 
circle  yesterday,  and  found  Mr.  Alcott  talking  to  the 
ladies.  He  was  quite  eloquent,  for  women  always  in 
spire  him,  he  says,  and  they  seemed  much  interested 
in  his  talk.  He  told  them  that  men  were  much  less 
than  they  might  be,  because  women  demanded  so  little 
of  them.  They  were  satisfied  with  too  low  a  stand 
ard.  I  mentally  repeated  Patmore's  lines  :  — 

"  And  favors  that  make  Folly  bold 
Put  out  the  light  in  Virtue's  face." 

MELROSE,  June  30,  1883. 

MY  DEAR  HARRIET,  — Your  letter  brought  up 
very  pleasantly  and  vividly  those  old  days,  when  I 
looked  upon  every  new  abolitionist  as  a  link  between 
men  and  angels,  and  the  prominent  ones  as  already 


HARRIET   W1NSLOW  SEW  ALL.       xxxvii 

divine.  What  a  thrill  of  wonder  and  rapture  I  should 
have  felt  had  I  known  that  Mrs.  Child  and  Mr.  Weld 
in  some  future  year  would  dine  with  me  regularly 
once  a  week !  I  regarded  the  attention  you  paid 
me  at  that  time  as  great  condescension,  and  did  not 
reali/e  that  we  should  one  day  seem  of  the  same  age. 

MELROSE,  July  4. 

MY  DEAR  HARRIET,  .  .  .  May  you  find  rest  and 
vigor  and  enjoy  many  birthdays,  and  each  should  be 
happier  than  the  last,  because  you  will  be  nearer 
heaven,  and  will  have  glimpses  of  it  with  your  fine 
spiritual  sense !  I  cannot  even  conceive  of  happiness 
that  is  not  much  like  earth,  and  it  will  be  very  in 
complete  if  I  do  not  have  some  tete-a-tetes  with  you, 
but  our  gossip  will  be  of  a  lofty  kind. 

October  30,  1884. 

MY  DEAR  HARRIET, —  You  are  like  an  oasis  in 
a  desert  to-day,  for  in  the  midst  of  a  wearisome  round 
of  packing  I  sit  down  and  rest  and  refresh  myself 
by  communion  with  you.  I  am  always  reminded,  at 
this  season  of  moving,  when  tired  with  a  hundred 
things  to  look  after,  of  the  sick  sultan  whose  doctor 


xxxviii    HARRIET   WINS  LOW  SEW  ALL. 

told  him  he  must  find  a  happy  man  and  wear  his 
shirt ;  and  after  long  search  the  happy  man  was  found, 
but,  alas  !  he  had  not  a  shirt  to  his  back.  Enviable 
creature  !  And  yet  if  one  of  my  trunks  should  be  lost 
on  the  way  to  Boston,  I  should  probably  cry ;  un 
like  mein  lieber  Herr,  who,  when  his  trunk  was  lost  on 
one  of  our  journeys,  summed  up  the  pros  and  cons, 
and  made  out,  like  "  Hans  in  Luck,"  that  on  the  whole 
he  was  a  great  gainer.  .  .  . 

This  is  an  exciting  week,  and  Mr.  Sewall  thinks  all 
will  come  out  right  next  Tuesday,  but  I  have  not  the 
happy  faculty  of  believing  what  I  want  to,  nor  of 
comforting  myself  with  the  maxim,  "  Whatever  is,  is 
right."  Part  of  the  process  of  evolution  is  to  make 
mistakes  and  find  them  out,  but  oh,  they  are  so  dread 
ful  sometimes ! 

Sunday,  May  27,  1888. 

DEAR  Lucr,  —  Mr.  Whittier  has  said  that  a  vis 
itor  at  Philadelphia  has  to  eat  his  way  through  the  city, 
and  I  want  to  tell  you  how  victoriously  your  father 
has  gone  through  the  ten  days  of  unwearying  effort  in 
that  line  and  come  home  safe  and  sound.  Either 
through  innocence  of  what  was  offered,  or  a  dislike  of 


HARRIET    WINSLOW  SEW  ALL.      xxxix 

saying  No,  he  has  met  everything  that  came  unflinch 
ingly,  and  you  can  imagine  my  panic  to  see  him  en 
counter  deviled  lohster  (he  will  not  even  eat  plain 
at  home),  deviled  crab,  and  nameless  dishes  of  sus 
picious  ingredients,  and  top  off  with  ice-cream  and 
strawberries  that  this  year  are  not  ripe  anywhere. 
When  invited  out,  I  was  not  placed  near  enough  to 
him  to  give  warning,  and  I  suspect  he  sometimes  res 
olutely  avoided  my  eye.  My  anxiety  was  the  only 
drawback  to  my  enjoyment,  and  now  it  is  a  great 
satisfaction  to  think  how  strong  he  must  be  to  do  so 
much  with  impunity. 

Wednesday  was  a  rather  wearying  day,  for  we  had 
delayed  our  calls  on  account  of  the  weather,  and  they 
must  all  be  made  at  once.  Emily  ordered  the  car 
riage  for  our  early  return,  as  she  knew  we  would  be 
tired,  and  we  got  back  at  9.30,  and  I  said  to  your 
father,  "  I  am  going  right  to  bed.  Won't  you  come  ? 
for  I  am  so  tired,  and  you  must  be."  "  Tired  !  "  he 
replied  ;  "  not  at  all,  and  I  can't  think  of  going  to 
bed  at  half  past  nine."  I  was  pleased  to  hear  him 
say  so,  and  I  tell  you  all  this  because  you  will  be  glad, 
too. 


xl  HARRIET   WINSLOW  SEW  ALL. 

Mrs.  Sewall  was  small  and  delicate  in  person, 
with  a  free,  light,  graceful  carriage  and  action. 
She  did  not  seem  to  walk,  but  rather  to  flit  or 
glide  along  the  streets,  as  if  she  did  not  belong 
to  them.  Her  fair  complexion,  blue  eyes,  and 
loosely  curling  hair,  often  bound  with  a  ribbon 
of  blue,  kept  the  appearance  of  girlhood  to  the 
verge  of  old  age.  She  once  acted  "The  fair 
maid  with  silver  locks  "  when  the  silver  was  all 
her  own.  She  was  full  of  fresh,  joyous  life,  and 
never  lost  the  sparkle  and  gladness  of  youth. 
She  danced  like  Perdita,  as  if  she  were  a  wave 
of  the  sea,  and  sang  like  a  lark  because  it  was 
morning.  As  late  as  1885  she  writes :  — 

151  Boylston  St. 

DEAR  LUCY,  —  I  find  this  a  capital  place  to  write 
my  letters,  —  no  interruptions  (I  am  sorry  to  say), 
and  the  precious  patent  pen  Mrs.  Pitman  gave  me  is 
very  convenient.  When  I  am  tired  of  writing  and 
reading,  I  sing  and  dance  for  exercise. 

Mr.  Sewall  shared  in  all  her  interests  and 
pleasures,  and  loved  to  watch  her  graceful  mo- 


HARRIET   WINSLOW  SEW  ALL.  xli 

tions  in  dance  or  frolic.  He  had  great  respect 
for  her  practical  powers  and  said,  "  Hatty  could 
do  anything.  She  's  a  genius." 

While  the  growing  tremulousness  of  Mr. 
Sewall's  manner  and  the  increasing  spiritual 
delicacy  of  his  expression  were  evident,  his  step 
was  yet  so  light  and  free,  his  mind  so  true,  and 
his  spirit  so  bright,  that  we  scarcely  thought  of 
him  as  losing  in  health  and  vigor  until  he  was 
suddenly  stricken  down  by  an  acute  attack  of 
pneumonia.  He  struggled  with  his  usual  cour 
age  against  disease,  but  could  not  rally  from  the 
attack,  and  died  on  December  20,  1888. 

Mrs.  Sewall  bore  this  sudden  and  heavy  blow 
with  sweet  patience,  trying  very  soon  to  meet 
her  friends  and  to  resume  her  wonted  occupa 
tions  ;  but  it  was  soon  evident  that  the  shock 
of  bereavement  was  telling  severely  upon  her 
nerves,  and  she  was  unable  to  sleep. 

Acceding  to  the  wish  of  her  physician,  she 
sought  a  little  change  in  a  visit  to  a  dear  cousin 
in  the  country.  Here  nature  seemed  to  minister 


xl  HARRIET    WINSLOW  SEW  ALL. 

Mrs.  Sewall  was  small  and  delicate  in  person, 
with  a  free,  light,  graceful  carriage  and  action. 
She  did  not  seem  to  walk,  but  rather  to  flit  or 
glide  along  the  streets,  as  if  she  did  not  belong 
to  them.  Her  fair  complexion,  blue  eyes,  and 
loosely  curling  hair,  often  bound  with  a  ribbon 
of  blue,  kept  the  appearance  of  girlhood  to  the 
verge  of  old  age.  She  once  acted  "The  fair 
maid  with  silver  locks  "  when  the  silver  was  all 
her  own.  She  was  full  of  fresh,  joyous  life,  and 
never  lost  the  sparkle  and  gladness  of  youth. 
She  danced  like  Perdita,  as  if  she  were  a  wave 
of  the  sea,  and  sang  like  a  lark  because  it  was 
morning.  As  late  as  1885  she  writes  :  — 

151  Boylston  St. 

DEAR  LUCY,  —  I  find  this  a  capital  place  to  write 
my  letters,  —  no  interruptions  (I  am  sorry  to  say), 
and  the  precious  patent  pen  Mrs.  Pitman  gave  me  is 
very  convenient.  When  I  am  tired  of  writing  and 
reading,  I  sing  and  dance  for  exercise. 

Mr.  Sewall  shared  in  all  her  interests  and 
pleasures,  and  loved  to  watch  her  graceful  mo- 


HARRIET   WINSLOW  SEW  ALL.  xli 

tions  in  dance  or  frolic.  He  had  great  respect 
for  her  practical  powers  and  said,  "  Hatty  could 
do  anything.  She  's  a  genius." 

While  the  growing  tremulousness  of  Mr. 
Sewall's  manner  and  the  increasing  spiritual 
delicacy  of  his  expression  were  evident,  his  step 
was  yet  so  light  and  free,  his  mind  so  true,  and 
his  spirit  so  bright,  that  we  scarcely  thought  of 
him  as  losing  in  health  and  vigor  until  he  was 
suddenly  stricken  down  by  an  acute  attack  of 
pneumonia.  He  struggled  with  his  usual  cour 
age  against  disease,  but  could  not  rally  from  the 
attack,  and  died  on  December  20,  1888. 

Mrs.  Sewall  bore  this  sudden  and  heavy  blow 
with  sweet  patience,  trying  very  soon  to  meet 
her  friends  and  to  resume  her  wonted  occupa 
tions  ;  but  it  was  soon  evident  that  the  shock 
of  bereavement  was  telling  severely  upon  her 
nerves,  and  she  was  unable  to  sleep. 

Acceding  to  the  wish  of  her  physician,  she 
sought  a  little  change  in  a  visit  to  a  dear  cousin 
in  the  country.  Here  nature  seemed  to  minister 


xlii  HARRIET    WINSLOW   SEW  ALL. 

to  her  with  something  of  its  old  power  of  calm 
ing  and  refreshing,  and  her  friends  hoped  for 
restoration,  but  in  a  moment  all  earthly  hopes 
were  destroyed.  As  she  was  walking  near  the 
house,  she  crossed  a  railroad  track,  wrhen  an  ex 
press  train  dashed  by,  and  left  her  lifeless  on  the 
ground. 

Her  friends  tried  to  be  consoled  by  the 
thought  that  the  passage  from  life  wras  instan 
taneous,  and  that  earth  had  little  left  for  her  to 
desire.  Her  memory  remains  to  them  in  unsul 
lied  purity,  a  light,  a  joy,  and  a  help. 

These  poems,  which  have  been  selected  by  the 
daughters  to  give  to  her  friends  a  lasting  me 
morial  of  her  exquisite  life,  did  not  receive  her 
revision,  except  as  she  wrote  them  out  for  a  gift 
for  her  husband ;  but  in  the  selection  the  editors 
have  kept  constantly  in  view  what  they  believe 
would  have  been  Mrs.  Sewall's  wish  in  regard  to 
their  publication.  Many  whole  poems,  and  in  a 
few  cases  some  stanzas  of  a  poem,  have  been 
omitted,  from  technical  defects,  but  what  is  given 


HARRIET   WIN  SLOW  SEW  ALL.          xliii 

is  almost  without  alteration.  Her  friends  will 
pardon  an  occasional  roughness  or  fault  of  me 
tre,  for  the  sake  of  having  her  own  words. 

These  poems  need  no  critical  analysis  ;  they 
speak  for  themselves,  from  the  heart  to  the 
heart.  They  will  be  precious  to  those  who  feel 
in  accord  with  the  noble,  loving  writer,  and 
carry  her  influence  to  those  who  had  not  the 
privilege  of  knowing  her  in  life. 

EDNAH  D.   CHENEY. 
JAMAICA  PLAIN,  November  28,  1889. 


POEMS  TO  S.  E.  S. 


SONG. 

WHEN  the  golden  and  rose-tinted  banners  of 

morning 
Announce    the    approach    of    the    bountiful 

day, 

I  think  how  its  radiance    thy  room  is  adorn 
ing* 
And  I  send  thee  a  greeting  on  each  golden 

ray. 

Good  morning,  Beloved,  good  morning,  good 
day, 

May  they  softly  caress  thee, 
And  gladden  and  bless  thee, 
And  linger  around  thee,  as  I  would  alway. 

And  again  when    long  shadows  the  night  are 

foretelling, 
And  eve  is  unveiling  her  mysteries  afar, 


4  SONG. 

The    same    dark    blue    dome    overarches    thy 

dwelling, 

And   our  glances  can  meet  in  the  same  sil 
ver  star. 

Good  evening,  Beloved,  good  evening,  good 
night, 

May  the  blue  skies  above  thee, 
That  lean  to  and  love  thee, 
Grow    bluer    as    signal    when    thou    art   in 
sight. 


TO  MY  DEAREST   FRIEND. 

(  With  a  Manuscript  Copy  of  her  Verses.) 

I  KNOW  what  dear  and  loving  eyes 
Will  on  these  pages  fall  and  linger, 

With  favoring  glances  fate  denies 
To  many  a  more  successful  singer. 

So  I  collect  my  songs  for  thee 

Emboldened  by  this  sweet  assurance, 

Foreseeing  what  their  fate  will  be 

By  thy  love's  lenient,  long  endurance. 

For  into  tenderer  hands  than  thine 
Could  never  frailty  be  committed, 

Their  worth  will  be  o'erprized,  like  mine, 
Their  failings  will  be  only  pitied. 

And  happier  I  with  such  applause, 

Than  warrior  on  his  homeward  marches, 


TO  MY  DEAREST  FRIEND. 

Returning  from  victorious  wars, 

And  rolling  'neath  triumphal  arches. 

So  dear,  and  far  beyond  my  due 

Thy  praises  sweet,  than  laurels  better, 

If  thou  my  gift  approving  view, 
The  donor  thou,  and  I  the  debtor. 


TO  S.  E.  S. 

I  PLEASE  myself  in  lonely  hours 

By  fancying  what  sweet  joy  'twould  be, 

Oh  dearest  friend,  could  I  requite  thee 
For  all  that  thou  hast  been  to  me. 

Not  only  for  sweet  favors  given, 
For  care  and  counsel  sweeter  far, 

For  love  that  lifts  the  veil  of  heaven, 
And  shows  us  what  its  glories  are ;  — 

Oh,  not  for  these  alone  I  thank  thee  ; 

I  bless  thee  from  my  inmost  heart, 
Not  only  for  what  thou  hast  given, 

But  even  more  for  what  thou  art. 

My  faith  in  goodness  is  made  firmer, 
My  hopes  of  what  mankind  may  be 


8  TO  S.  E.  S. 

To  loftier  soarings  are  encouraged, 
Beloved,  when  I  think  of  thee. 

And  if  my  faith  a  moment  fail  me, 

When  outward  wrongs  my  credence  claim, 

And  doubts  and  weaknesses  assail  me, 
They  vanish  if  I  breathe  thy  name. 

And  how  could  sorrow  be  surmounted, 
Beloved,  unless  shared  with  thee, 

By  thy  endearing  love  surrounded. 
And  thy  sustaining  sympathy. 

Oh,  love  may  spring  in  sunny  weather, 
In  smiling  bowers  may  bloom  and  grow, 

But  only  those  who  weep  together 
Its  sweetest,  holiest  spell  can  know. 


I  LOVE  THEE. 

(Translated  from  the  German  for  his  Birthday.) 

I  THINK  o'er  and  o'er  all  that  language  af 
fords 

For  what  I  can  send  thee  of  wiusomest 
words. 

I  search  for  the  most  honey  sweet  and  select, 

Now  one,  now  another  I  choose  and  reject ; 

But  when  I  would  send  them  they  suit  me 
but  ill, 

For  something  far  sweeter  occurs  to  me  still. 

To   my   darling    some    beautiful    gift   I    would 

send, 

I  seek,  and  select,  and  discard  without  end. 
Now  a  flower  it  shall  be  and  some  verses  to 

fit, 
Now  a  ring  to  betoken  truth  inviolate ; 


10  /  LOVE  THEE. 

But  when  I  would  send  it  again,  I  demur, 
For  something  far  fitter  will  surely  occur. 

I  seek  the  world  over  for  words  to  portray 
How  dear    thou    art    to    me,  and    dearer  each 

day; 

No  sweet  combination  yet  find  I  more  fond 
Than    the    fervent    "  I    love    thee,"    the    truth 

unadorned. 

Shall  I  seek  for  a  tenderer,  sweeter  refrain  ? 
Ah  no !  for  I  surely  should  seek  it  in  vain. 


DEPARTURE. 

LONG  time  I  lingered  at  the  window,  watching 
Thy  parting  progress  and  the  approaching 

storm  ; 
The   night    came    swiftly  down    as   thou  wert 

leaving, 
And  folded  round  thy  fast  retreating  form. 

I  wished  I  were  the  winds  that  followed  after, 
And  round  thy  footsteps  fondly  seemed  to 

play ; 

Oh !    I    should    chase  all  evil   from  thy  path 
way, 

And    treat    thee  with    more    reverence  than 
they. 

I  thought  of  many  a  form  in  which  to  follow, 
And  hover  round  thee,  over  land  and  sea ; 

I  yielded  to  these  fancies  that  kept  thronging, 
To  still  the  longing  that  I  felt  for  thee. 


12  DEPARTURE. 

I  opened  many  a  book  that  thou  hadst  brought 

me, 

Rich  with  all  nature's  lore  and  melody; 
I     tried    the    favorite    songs    that    time    had 

taught  me,  — 

No  book,  no  song,  so  sweet  as  thoughts  of 
thee. 

Though  impotent  to  be  a  present  blessing, 
I  built  fair  castles  for  thy  future  bliss, 

And    more    than    ever    prayed    for  gifts  and 

goodness, 
That  might  contribute  to  thy  happiness. 

Oh,  never  may  a  wrong  or  reckless  action 
Pollute  the  happy  hand  by  thine  caressed! 

Nor  ever  thought  or  sentiment  unworthy 
Tinge  the  proud  cheek  which  thy  dear  lips 
have  pressed! 

As  through  the  desolated  rooms  I  wandered, 
To  fill  the  void  thy  image  kindly  came ; 


DEPARTURE.  13 

The  flickering  shadows  took  thy  form  in  fall 
ing* 

The    winds    without    were    whispering     thy 
name. 

Thy  cloak  hung  in  the  hall,  I  could  not  pass 

it; 
More    than    all   else    it    seemed   a    part    of 

thee; 
Some    potent    spell    it    must    have    borrowed 

from  thee, 
To  draw  me,  draw  me  irresistibly. 

I  took  it   to   my  room   and  wrapped  it  round 

me, 

Closer  and  closer,  as  the  storm  grew  loud  ; 
Sweetly  and  safely  seemed  it  to  enfold  me, 
As  though  with  thine    own  love    and  power 
endowed. 

I  laid  my  cheek  against  the  velvet  lining, 
Where    late,    I    loved    to    fancy,  thine  had 
been  ; 


14  DEPARTURE. 

How  could    I  fear,  thus   filled   with   thy  dear 

influence, 
The  storm  without,  the  loneliness  within  ! 

To  the  wild  winds  it  gave  a  softer  cadence, 
A  mellowing  glory  to  the  lightning  gleams ; 
It  filled   the   large   and   lonely  room  with   ra 
diance, 

And    the    long    night  with    rich    and    rosy 
dreams. 


IN  MEMORY  OF  S.  E.  S. 

TRUE  manliness  is  never  more  apparent 

Than  in  tlef ense  of  woman ; 
And  thou,  her  invincible  knight-errant, 

Revering  in  her  the  divine  and  human, 

And  scorning  man's  abuse  of  power  and  station, 
Emboldened  her  to  choose  her  own  career, 

Hailing  with  generous  appreciation 

All  excellence  of  hers  in  every  sphere. 

In  all  the  annals  of  chivalric  daring 

What  match  for  thy  devotion  can  be  found  ? 

The  knights  of  old,  a  carnal  war  declaring, 
For    coarser    deeds    and    weapons    were    re 
nowned. 

No  risk  was  theirs  of  undervaluation, 
By  all  the  amiable  sex  adored ; 


16  IN  MEMORY  OF  S.  E.  S. 

How  could  they  match  thy  self-renunciation, 
Or    wield    thy   weapon,   mightier    than   the 
sword  ? 

Thy  faith  and  patience,  almost  superhuman, 
Beyond  all  barriers  overlooked  the  goal, 

The  scorn  of  man,  the  indifference  of  woman, 
Meeting  with  imperturbable  control. 

Each  year,  with  zeal  and  courage  unabated, 
Thy     struggle     was     renewed     against     the 
wrong  ; 

No  failure  could  discourage  or  embitter 

A  heart  and  will  so  hopeful  and  so  strong. 

With    such    unwavering    trust    and     patience 

gifted, 

Oh,  what  to  thee  were  laurels  and  renown, 
By  foresight  of  the  future  good  uplifted, 
Thy  faith    and   zeal  were  both  reward    and 

crown. 
January,  1889. 


SENTIMENT. 


WHY  THUS  LONGING? 

"WiiY  thus  longing,  thus  forever  sighing, 
For  the  far-off,  unattained  and  dim, 

While  the  beautiful,  all  round  thee  lying, 
Offers  up  its  low,  perpetual  hymn? 

"Wouldst  thou  listen  to  its  gentle  teaching, 
All  thy  restless  yearnings  it  would  still ; 

Leaf  and  flower  and  laden  bee  are  preaching 
Thine   own   sphere,  though   humble,  first  to 
fill. 

Poor  indeed  thou  must  be,  if  around  thee 
Thou  no  ray  of  light  and  joy  canst  throw; 

If  no  silken  cord  of  love  hath  bound  thee 
To  some  little  world  through  weal  and  woe ; 

If  no  dear  eyes  thy  fond  love  can  brighten, 
No  fond  voices  answer  to  thine  own ; 


20  WHY  THUS  LONGING. 

If  no  brother's  sorrow  thou  canst  lighten 
By  daily  sympathy  and  gentle  tone. 

Not  by  deeds  that  win  the  crowd's  applauses, 
Not  by  works  that  give  thee  world-renown, 

Not  by  martyrdom  or  vaunted  crosses, 

Canst    thou    win    and    wear    the    immortal 
crown. 

Daily  struggling,  though  unloved  and  lonely, 
Every  day  a  rich  reward  will  give; 

Thou  wilt  find,  by  hearty  striving  only, 
And  truly  loving,  thou  canst  truly  live. 

Dost  thou  revel  in  the  rosy  morning, 
When  all  nature  hails  the  lord  of  light, 

And  his  smile,  nor  low  nor  lofty  scorning, 
Gladdens  hall  and  hovel,  vale  and  height  ? 

Other  hands  may  grasp  the  field  and  forest, 
Proud  proprietors  in  pomp  may  shine ; 

But  with  fervent  love  if  thou  adorest, 

Thou  art  wealthier,  —  all  the  world  is  thine ! 


WHY  THUS  LONGING.  21 

Yet    if    through    earth's    wide    domains    thou 
rovest, 

Sighing  that  they  are  not  thine  alone, 
Not  those  fair  fields,  but  thyself,  thou  lovest, 

And  their  beauty  and  thy  wealth  are  gone. 

Nature  wears  the  colors  of  the  spirit; 

Sweetly  to  her  worshiper  she  sings ; 
All  the  glow,  the  grace,  she  doth  inherit, 

Hound  her  trusting  child  she  fondly  flings. 


"FOR  BEHOLD  THE    KINGDOM    OF    GOD 
IS   WITHIN  YOU." 

PILGRIM  to  the  heavenly  city 
Groping  wildered  on  thy  way, 

Look  not  to  the  outward  landmarks, 
List  not  what  the  blind  guides  say. 

For  long  years  thou  hast  been  seeking 
Some  new  idol  found  each  day; 

All  that  dazzled,  all  that  glittered, 
Lured  thee  from  the  path  away. 

On  the  outward  world  relying, 

Earthly  treasures  thou  wouldst  heap^ 

Titled  friends  and  lofty  honors 
Lull  thy  higher  hopes  to  sleep. 

Thou  art  stored  with  worldly  wisdom, 
All  the  lore  of  books  is  thine ; 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  GOD.  23 

Anil  within  thy  stately  mansion 
Brightly  sparkle  wit  and  wine. 

Richly  droop  the  silken  curtains 

Round  those  high  and  mirrored  halls ; 

And  on  mossy  Persian  carpets 
Silently  thy  proud  step  falls. 

Not  the  gentlest  wind  of  heaven 
Dares  too  roughly  fan  thy  brow, 

Nor  the  morning's  blessed  sunbeams 
Tinge  thy  cheek  with  ruddy  glow. 

Yet  'midst  all  these  outward  riches, 
Has  thy  heart  no  void  confessed  — 

Whispering,  "  Though  each  wish  be  granted, 
Still,  oh  still,  I  am  not  blessed  "  ? 

And  when  happy,  careless  children, 
Lured  thee  with  their  winning  ways, 

Thou  hast  sighed  in  vain  contrition, 
"  Give  me  back  those  golden  days." 


24  THE  KINGDOM  OF   GOD. 

Hadst  thou  stooped  to  learn  their  lesson  — 
Truthful  preachers  —  they  had  told 

Thou  thy  kingdom  hast  forsaken, 
Thou  hast  thine  own  birthright  sold. 

Thou  art  heir  to  vast  possessions, — 
Up,  and  boldly  claim  thine  own, 

Seize  the  crown  that  waits  thy  wearing, 
Leap  at  once  upon  thy  throne. 

Look  not  to  some  cloudy  mansion, 

'Mong  the  planets  far  away, 
Trust  not  to  the  distant  future, 

Let  thy  heaven  begin  to-day. 

When  thy  struggling  soul  hath  conquered, 
When  the  path  lies  fair  and  clear, 

When  thou  art  prepared  for  heaven, 
Thou  wilt  find  that  heaven  is  here. 


SUPPLICATION. 

FORGIVE  me,  Father,  if  I  dared 
To  doubt  the  justice  of  thy  will ; 

The  dark  distrust,  the  munnurings  mad, 
Father  forgive,  and  guard  me  still. 

Oh,  save  me  from  the  inward  strife, 
Where  passion  recklessly  contends 

With  all  the  holier  laws  of  life, 
And  all  the  light  religion  lends. 

Oh,  save  me  from  the  lawless  course, 
The  impious  thought,  the  rebel  will, 

And  give  me  faith,  and  give  me  force, 
To  trust  in  and  obey  thee  still. 

What  storms  of  feeling  yet  may  come, 
What  losses  I  may  yet  survive, 


26  SUPPLICATION. 

Before  I  reach  that  peaceful  home 
Where  good  and  ill  no  longer  strive, 

Thou  only  knowest,  and  thou  alone 

Canst  guide  and  guard  me  safely  through ; 

Help  me  to  say,  "  Thy  will  be  done," 
And  nerve  me  to  endure  and  do. 

Oh,  let  me  feel,  whate'er  may  come, 
I  am  not  banished  far  from  thee  ; 

And  all  life's  losses,  all  death's  gloom, 
May  teach  some  heavenly  truth  to  me. 


WORLDLY-MINDEDNESS. 

O  BOUNTEOUS  world,  against  thy  foes  reviling, 
Thy  earnest  champion  I  have  been  for  years, 

Nor,  little  cause  though  I  might  have  for  smil 
ing* 
"Would  I  traduce  thee  as  a  vale  of  tears. 

Even  methinks  within  heaven's  starry  portals 
I  might  be  homesick,  thinking  there  of  thee, 

And  angels  I  have  known,  though  only  mortals, 
As  fair  and  good  as  I  would  wish  to  see. 

And  yet  my  love  is  not  a  blind  adherence  ; 

Thy  ills  and  errors  I  would  help  to  mend, 
Yet  shrink  with  awe  from  hasty  interference 

In  plans  too  vast  for  me  to  comprehend. 

Yet    couldst    thou  know  what  dreams  of  high 
endeavor, 


28  WORLDLY-MINDEDNESS. 

What  golden  visions  of  a  destiny, 
Fairer  perhaps  than  any  thou  hast  ever 

For    thyself    imaged,    I    have    dreamed    for 
thee; 

Down  the  long  ages  picturing  thy  progression, 
Till  all  thy  youthful  errors  are  outgrown, 

And  Death  is  only  as  a  dim  tradition, 
A  monster  of  the  infant  planet  known; 

How  all  thy  revolutions  and  diseases 

Have    seemed    rude    struggles    after    health 
and  light, 

How  ready,  when  the  actual  displeases, 

My  fancy  is  to  take  that  "  fond  old  flight "  ; 

Thou  mightst  forgive  if  I  have  failed  in  doing, 
Nor  deem  it  from  a  want  of  heart  or 
will  — 

Though  thankfully  the  smallest  good  pursuing, 
I  long  in  larger  ways  to  serve  thee  still. 


MEMORIES. 

WHEN  the  daylight  gently  dying 
Lingers,  as  if  loth  to  go, 

And  its  busy  din  retreating 
Merges  in  a  murmur  low, 

The  strange  power  of  that  hour 
Magic  spells  around  me  throw. 

From  the  present,  from  the  actual, 
Swiftly  I  am  borne  away, 

And  in  spirit  through  the  wildwood 
Once  again  with  thee  I  stray. 

As  I  wander,  ever  fonder 
Holier  influences  sway. 

Worldly  wisdom,  worldly  maxims, 
All  are  banished  at  thy  side, 

Doubt  and  danger  are  forgotten, 
In  the  full  resistless  tide 


30  MEMORIES. 

Of  sweet  feeling,  o'er  me  stealing, 
Which  I  do  not  care  to  hide. 

How  the  magic  of  thy  presence 
Robes  the  earth  in  hues  divine ; 

One  by  one,  the  stars  appearing, 
With  strange  lustre  seem  to  shine; 

Night's  low  noises  hush  their  voices, 
At  the  melody  of  thine. 

Fairer  seems  the  world  around  us, 
Loftier  the  o'erarching  sky ; 

And  the  air  is  filled  with  music, 
As  the  wild  wind  wTanders  by. 

Life  is  dearer,  heaven  is  nearer, 
O  beloved !  when  thou  art  nio-h. 


LOVE. 

O    WANTON    and    gay    little   archer,  to    whom 

the  world  long  time  has  given 
A  name  most  sacred  and  dear,  to  our  sweet 
est  emotion  applied, 

How  poorly  to   me    dost    thou  image    that  an 
gel  descended  from  heaven, 
Familiar   with  sorrow  and   tears,  and  to   all 
that  is  earnest  allied. 

O  holy  and  beautiful  spirit,  what  image  could 

well  represent  thee  ? 

What  sweet  combination  of  words    can  por 
tray  that  divinest  idea? 
Wherever  thou  art  it  is  heaven,  and  merciful 

heaven  has  lent  thee 

A  solace  for  all  that  is  sorrowful,  unsatisfac 
tory  here. 


ASPIRATION. 

I  HAD  almost  faltered  by  the  wayside, 

But  sweet  words  have  come  to  me  of  late, 

Words  at  once  so  cheering,  and  so  soothing, 
They  have  nerved  my  heart  for  any  fate. 

Shall  I  linger  in  alluring  places, 

While  my  ideal  ever  urges  on? 
No,  —  my  heart  must  never  know  reposing, 

Till  that  far-off  glittering  goal  is  won. 

Ah !  't  were  worth  long  years  of  patient  striv 
ing 

Those  receding  realms  to  reach  at  last ; 
Can  I   not,  from    thence,  new  strength   deriv 
ing, 
Burst  the  chains  which  bind  my  spirit  fast  ? 


ASPIRATION.  33 

Link  by  link,  the  serpent  coil  unwinding, 
Day  by  day  some  higher  ground  to  win  ; 

May  I  not,  at  last,  O  holy  Father  ! 

Soar  above  all  forms  of  death  and  sin? 

And  once  more  in  thy  clear  presence  living, 
Love  thee,  serve  thee,  live  for  thee  alone  ? 

Ah  !  this  blessed  hope  will  speed  me  onward, 
Till  that  glorious  heaven  is  mine  own. 


PESSIMIST. 

NEVER  again  will  I  be  won  to  laud  thee, 
O  world !  so  siren-voiced,  so  seeming  fair, 

O    mocking    phantom !    luring    lovers    towards 

thee, 
And  fading,  as  they  clasp  thee,  into  air. 

What    beautiful    new    cheat    wilt    thou    next 
offer, 

To  win  me  from  my  fortress  of  disdain  ? 
What  cunning  masquerade  to  make  the  scoffer 

Retract  his  scorn,  and  dream  of  love  again? 

Will  not  one  sad  thought  of  the    past    suffice 

us 
To    scorn  thy  spells,  and  break    thy  golden 

chain  ? 

And  can  thy  sweet  shows  evermore  entice    us, 
While  memories  of  their  emptiness  remain  ? 


PESSIMIST.  35 

While    might    makes    right,  and    all   the    op 
pressed  are  weary 

Waiting  for  mercy  to  unveil  her  face : 
While  freedom  is  a  glorious  thing  in  theory, 
But    in    the    state    quite  out   of    date    and 
place  : 

While  modesty  in  books  is  much  applauded, 
But  trampled  in  the  crowd  and  jostled  by: 

While  work  as  holy  mission  oft  is  lauded, 
And  all  the  weary  workers  left  to  die  ? 

If,  spite  of  all  the  discord  that  surrounds  us, 
Love    in  our  homes  sweet    household    music 

makes  ; 
When  other  hearts  to  life  have  strongly  bound 

us, 
And  earth  is  beautiful  for  their  dear  sakes ; 

When,  though  dark   clouds  above    us    thickly 

gather, 

Fond    eyes    make    sunlight    wheresoe'er    we 
dwell ; 


36  PESSIMIST. 

Then  death  steps  in,  and  silences  forever 
The   lips    and   eyes   that  we    have  loved  so 
well. 

And  when  at  night  we  wildly  ask  of  heaven, 
"  Oh,    shall   we    find    them    on    the    eternal 

shore  ?  " 

No  answer  to  our  earnest  prayer  is  given  ; 
Only  the  night-winds    sigh,    "No    more,  no 
more." 

Life  in  its  gay  and  giddy  vortex  whirls  us, 
Luring  us  with  sweet  promises  and  fair; 

Then  from  the  heights    of    hope    and    rapture 

hurls  us, 
Down  to  the  lowest  depths  of  grim  despair. 

There  we  are  left  to  struggle  dimly  upward, 
A  weary  way,  in  darkness  and  alone  ; 

With  no   sweet    hopes,  like    angels,  beckoning 

forward, 
But  haunting  fears,  fell  demons,  goading  on. 


PESSIMIST.  37 

Involved  in  mystery,  all  but  death  uncertain, 
We  seek  the  future  and  the  past  to  know ; 

But  on  all  sides  a  dark,  impervious  curtain 
Shuts   down  to  say,  "No  farther  shalt  thou 
go-" 


OPTIMIST. 

O  LIFE  !     O  lovely  luring  life ! 

In  vain  we  seek  to  break  thy  fetters  ; 
Thy  roses  may  with  thorns  be  rife, 

But  we  are  still  thy  debtors. 

Grant  that  the  rose's  reign  is  brief, 
Joy  may  be  fleet,  but  pain  is  fleeter, 

And  fragrant  dust  of  flower  and  leaf 
Make  coming  roses  sweeter. 

Life's  garlands  fade  and  fall  too  fast, 
But  richer  gains  repair  such  losses ; 

Heaven  saves  its  best  gifts  to  the  last, 
And  life  its  finer  forces. 

In  spite  of  all  the  dreary  shrouds, 

In  which  care  seeks  to  hide  and  bind  us 

In  spite  of  sorrow's  lowering  clouds, 
Hope's  sunny  glance  will  find  us. 


OPTIMIST.  39 

We  may  be  warned  against  her  wiles, 
And  vow  to  entertain  her  never, 

But  irresistibly  she  smiles, 
And  we  are  hers  forever. 

The  song  springs  lightly  to  our  lips 
That  yesterday  were  mute  with  sorrow, 

And  happiness's  brief  eclipse 
But  makes  a  brighter  morrow. 

The  clouds  that  overhang  the  skies 

Will  serve  to  make  the  heavens  bluer  ; 

And  friends  that  fail  and  love  that  dies 
But  show  the  faithful  truer. 

And  even  if  souls  esteemed  the  best 
In  treachery  be  at  last  detected, 

Truth's  careful  counterfeits  attest 
How  much  she  is  respected. 

We  well  may  seem  obscure  and  small 
In  the  vast  universe  of  being, 


40  OPTIMIST. 

But  the  welfare  of  each  and  all 
Is  dear  to  the  All-seeing. 

One  glance  into  the  blue  above, 

The  depths  of  blue,  so  calm  and  holy, 

Reveals  to  us  a  God  of  love, 
No  God  of  justice  solely. 

And  I  must  think,  oft  noting  how 

Impartially  his  rays  are  given, 
The  pitifullest  fiend  below 

Must  have  some  gleams  of  heaven. 

The  future,  God  alone  can  know, 
The  present,  he  has  kindly  lent  us  ; 

And  following  him,  where'er  we  go 
His  angels  will  attend  us. 

Bounties  so  manifold  and  dear 

Should  check  the  skeptic's  scorn  and  laugh 
ter; 
If  blind  to  all  the  blessings  here, 

Can  we  deserve  hereafter? 


DREAM-LAND. 

DAY  may  boast  of  bounteous  spirits, 
All  the  airiest,  brightest,  best ; 

Ah  !  the  night  has  one  kind  angel 
That  can  rival  all  the  rest. 

Throw  some  magic  spell  around  me, 
O  sweet  sleep !  that  I  may  sing 

All  the  wonders  thou  hast  shown  me, 
All  the  wealth  that  thou  canst  bring. 

Sorrow,  like  a  dream,  recedeth, 
Tears  and  sins  are  washed  away, 

And  night  offers  all  we  wildly, 

Vainly  prayed  for  through  the  day. 

Then  the  coldest  eyes  beam  kindly, 
Sternest  lips  let  fond  words  fall, 


42  DREAM-LAND. 

And  the  love  so  late  despaired  of 
Throws  enchantment  over  all. 

Then  the  dear  familiar  voices, 
Voices  heard  by  day  no  more, 

Fill  the  eyes  with  tearful  gladness, 
Thrill  the  heart  through,  as  of  yore. 

And  with  those  so  loved  and  longed  for, 

Hand  in  hand,  we  gayly  go 
Over  field  where  softened  sunlight 

Gilds  and  hallows  all  below. 

Then  the  clouds  reveal  fair  faces, 
Strangely  sweet  the  wind-harps  play ; 

And  the  trees  make  human  gestures, 
Mutely  beckoning  us  away. 

Till  at  last  we  reach  exultant 

Those  bright  realms  where  joy  has  birth, 
Those  receding  sunset  regions 

Where  the  heavens  kiss  the  earth. 


DREAM-LAND.  43 

Lovely  land!  the  dazzling  daylight 
Breaks  too  soon  thy  shadowy  spell ; 

Yet  long  after  on  the  eyelids 
Thy  sweet  influences  dwell. 

Therefore  'wildering  visions  haunt  us, 

'Mid  the  tumult  of  the  day  ; 
But  we  pause  to  ask  their  meaning, 

And  like  ghosts  they  glide  away. 


UNDINE. 

AND  hast  thou  left  this  upper  world  forever, 

Dearest  of  visions,  beautiful  Undine  ? 
Oh,    with  what    earnest,  with    what    fond    en 
deavor, 

My  thoughts    have    followed   thee  to  realms 
unseen ! 

Ever  when  bending  o'er  the  deep  blue  sea, 
I  look  into  its  depth  with  eager  longing, 
For    then    the    brightest,    wildest    dreams    of 

thee, 

And    of    those   crystal  palaces  come  throng 
ing. 

And  art  thou  gone  forever  ?     Oh,  once  more 
Come  back,  and  take  me  with  thee  ;  let  me 
go 


UNDINE.  45 

Far  from  these  skies  and  this  familiar  shore, 
Down,    down,    where    sparkles     thy    bright 
home  below ; 

With  thee  to  wander  'neath  the  sunlight  pale, 
Amid  those  beauties  of  the  olden  world, 

WJiich  the  floods  covered  with  their  silver  veil, 
While  round  their  ruins  loving  sea -moss 
curled. 

Deep  in  the  shadow  of  those  coral  groves, 
Following    thy  footsteps    o'er   the    sparkling 
sands, 

I  might  imbibe  thy  universal  love, 

And  scorn  the  maxims  cold  of  other  lands. 

Ah,  trust  me,  I  would  leave  behind  me  all 
Those    narrow,    forced,    unnatural    ways    of 

thought, 
Which    like    a  sad  weight    on    thy    heart    did 

fall, 

Chilling    the    soul    thou    hadst     so     dearly 
bought. 


46  UNDINE. 

Thy  deep  affection  no  neglect  could  kill, 
That  love  so  truthful,  so  almost  divine  ; 

Oh,  I  would  learn  of  thee,  and  worship,  till 
My  soul  became  as  beautiful  as  thine ! 

Within    my    heart,    dear    Undine,    there    are 

chords 

That  ever  thrill  responsive  to  thine  own  ; 
I    love    the    same    wild    sports,    the    haunted 

woods, 

The  cliffs,  where  wild  waves  break  in  thun 
der  tones. 

"  The  beings  of  the  mind  are  not  of  clay," 
And  thou  not  all  unreal  because  unseen  ; 

Thou    livest  wherever    soul    o'er    sense    bears 

sway, 
Imperishable,  beautiful  Undine! 


AFTER  READING   "THE   RAVEN." 

LEAVE  us  not  so  dark,  uncertain, 
Lift  again  the  fallen  curtain, 
Let  us  once  again  the  mysteries 

Of  that  haunted  room  explore,  — 
Hear  once  more  that  friend  infernal, 
That  grim  visitor  nocturnal, 
Earnestly  we  long  to  learn  all 

That  befalls  that  bird  of  yore. 

Oh,  then  tell  us  something  more  ! 

Doth  his  shade  thy  floor  still  darken  ? 
Dost  thou  still  despairing  hearken 
To  that  deep  sepulchral  utterance, 

Like  the  oracles  of  yore? 
In  the  same  place  is  he  sitting? 
Does  he  give  no  sign  of  quitting, 
Is  he  conscious,  or  unwitting, 

When  he  answers,  "  Nevermore  "  ? 

Tell  me  truly,  I  implore  ! 


48       AFTER  READING  "THE  RAVEN." 

Knows  he  not  the  littlenesses 
That  humanity  possesses  ? 
Knows  he  never  need  of  slumber, 

Fainting  forces  to  restore  ? 
Stoops  he  not  to  eating,  drinking  ? 
Is  he  never  caught  in  winking, 
When  his  demon  eyes  are  sinking 

Deep  into  thy  bosom's  core? 

Tell  me  this,  if  nothing  more ! 

Is  he  after  all  so  evil? 

Is  it  fair  to  call  him  devil? 

Did  he  not  give  friendly  answer, 

When  thy  speech  friend's  meaning  bore  ? 
When  thy  sad  tones  were  revealing 
All  the  loneness  o'er  thee  stealing, 
Did  he  not,  with  fellow-feeling, 

Vow  to  leave  thee  nevermore  ? 

Keeps  he  not  that  oath  he  swore  ? 


He  too  may  be  inly  praying, 
Vainly,  earnestly  essaying 


AFTER  READING  "THE  RAVEN."      49 

To  forget  some  matchless  mate, 

Beloved  yet  lost  forevermore  ; 
lie  lias  donned  a  suit  of  mourning, 
And  all  earthly  comfort  scorning, 
Broods  alone  from  night  till  morning. 

By  thy  memories  of  Lenore, 

Oh,  renounce  him  nevermore ! 

Though  he  be  a  sable  brother, 

Treat  him  kindly  as  another ; 

Ah  !  perhaps  the  world  has  scorned  him 

For  that  luckless  hue  he  wore ; 
No  such  narrow  prejudices 
Can  he  know  whom  love  possesses, 
Wrongs  who  willingly  redresses, 

Do  not  spurn  him  from  thy  door, 

Lest  love  enter  nevermore. 

No  bad  bird  of  evil  presage, 
Happily  be  bears  some  message 
From  that  much-mourned,  matchless  maiden, 
From  that  loved  and  lost  Lenore. 


50        AFTER  READING  "THE  RAVEN." 

In  a  pilgrim's  garb  disguised, 
Angels  are  but  seldom  prized; 
Of  that  fact  at  length  advised, 
Were  it  strange  if  he  forswore 
The  false  world  forevermore  ? 


O  thou  ill-starred  midnight  ranger. 
Dark,  forlorn,  mysterious  stranger, 
Wildered  wanderer  from  the  Eternal, 

Lighting  on  time's  stormy  shore : 
Tell  us  of  that  world  of  wonder, 
Of  that  famed,  unfading  yonder, 
Rend,  oh  rend  the  veil  asunder, 

Let  our  fears  and  doubts  be  o'er! 

Doth  he  answer,  "Nevermore"? 


WINTER  NIGHTS. 

SUGGESTED   BY    "  SUMMER   DAYS." 

IN  winter,  when  the  nights  were  long, 

How  short,  how  fleeting,  seemed  the  hours  ! 

Our  carols  filled  the  air  with  song, 

Our  fancy  decked  the  earth  with  flowers. 

As  to  and  fro,  with  twining  arms 

And  teeming  brain,  the  rooms  we  paced, 

Life  lay  before  us  rich  in  charms, 
No  vale  of  tears,  no  desert  waste ; 

And  come  whatever  haps  or  harms, 
Our  hearts  and  fates  were  interlaced. 

In  winter,  when  the  nights  were  long, 

We  dreamed  of  deeds  transcending  fame  ; 

In  fancy  we  would  right  all  wrong, 
And  even  the  great  Dragon  tame. 


52  WINTER  NIGHTS. 

We  told  old  stories  weird  and  wild, 
Till  almost  we  believed  them  true ; 

And  though  at  fear  we  mocked  and  smiled, 
Closer  and  closer  still  we  drew; 

Watching,  by  fancy  half  beguiled, 

The  shadows  which  the  firelight  threw. 

In  winter,  when  the  nights  were  long, 
If  they  were  cold  we  did  not  know, 

For  love  and  courage,  beating  strong, 
Shed  everywhere  a  summer  glow. 

On  rosy  apples,  golden  corn, 

With  snowy  lining  overcurled, 
We  feasted  when  the  nights  came  on, 

Content  as  if  we  owned  the  world ; 
And  diamonds  we  dissolved  might  scorn 

The  fair  Egyptian's  famed  pearl. 

In  winter,  when  the  nights  were  long, 
The  tempest's  wrath  we  could  defy; 

And  loved  to  hear  its  fitful  song, 

Now  low  and  sad,  now  wild  and  high. 


WINTER  NIGHTS.  53 

Round  doors  and  windows  vainly  roaring, 
Secure  we  heard  its  varying  play, 

A  rallying  strain  of  triumph  pouring, 
And  then  receding  far  away. 

Our  songs  above  the  winds  were  soaring, 
Our  hearts  were  merrier  than  they. 

In  winter,  when  the  nights  are  long, 

Alone  I  wander  to  and  fro; 
Where  are  the  hearts  so  light  and  strong? 

A V  here  are  the  hopes  of  long  ago  ? 

Musing,  I  wander  to  and  fro, 

While  mournful  memories  round  me  throng ; 
Or  else  for  solace  chanting  low 

Fragments  of  some  familiar  song 
We  learned  together  long  ago, 

In  winter,  when  the  nights  were  long. 

I  listen  for  an  echo  soft, 

But  no  kind  spirits  condescend  ; 
Only  my  own  heart  answers  oft, 

"  Patience,  —  the  longest  night  will  end." 


REMINISCENCES  OF  CHILDHOOD. 

HERE  in  this  high  and  leafy  hall, 
Where  the  slanting  sunbeams  softly  fall, 
And  the  length'ning  shadows  come  and  go 
O'er  the  undulating  grass  below, 
Each  odor,  each  tone,  that  round  me  strays 
Recalls  the  green  haunts  of  bygone  days. 
I  tread  once  more  in  my  childhood's  track, 
And  its  rosy  hours  come  thronging  back ; 
And  gently  and  swiftly  they  bear  me  on, 
Till  the  past  and  the  present  blend  in  one. 

With  bounding  heart  I  am  out  once  more 
Where    the    fallen    leaves    play  round  the  old 

farm  door, 

And  dance  to  the  music  of  the  breeze 
That  sweeps  through  the  old    Balm   o'    Gilead 

trees. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  CHILDHOOD.        55 

I  travel  again  the  familiar  ways, 
In  the  wane  of  the  warm  September  days; 
1  watch  the  sun  go  down  at  night, 
And  greet  him  at  morn  with  a  new  delight, 
Before  he  can  kiss  the  dewy  drops 
From  the  violets'  eyes,  'neath  the  shady  copse. 
Into  the  ground-sparrow's  nest  I  peep, 
While  the  morning-glory  is  fast  asleep ; 
And  when  the  declining  sun  is  low, 
And  o'er  the  green  earth  sheds  a  golden  glow, 
Down  to  the  river's  bank  I  hie,  — 
Down  o'er  the  interval,  Nero  and  I. 
No  merry  companions  share  our  glee, 
But  nature  speaks  to  us  lovingly. 
The  grass  bows  low  as  we  pass  along, 
The  cricket  sings  us  a  happy  song, 
The  flowers   look  up  from  their  hiding-place, 
The  butterfly  lures  us  to  the  chase, 
The  squirrel  peeps  out  from  behind  the  tree, 
The  branches  are  beckoning  constantly, 
And    the    leaves    are    whispering,    "  Come  and 
see." 


56       REMINISCENCES  OF   CHILDHOOD. 

Before  I  know  it  the  day  is  gone, 

And  night  steals  swiftly  and  silently  on. 

I  see  strange  shapes  in  the  woods  around, 

I  start  if  an  acorn  fall  to  the  ground  ; 

The  winds,  with  a  lonesome,  mournful  tone, 

Seem  to  whisper  softly,  "  Summer  is  gone." 

The  branches  borrow  their  notes  of  grief, 

And  chant  a  dirge  o'er  each  fallen  leaf, 

While  mysterious  shadows  flit  silently  by, 

At  each  gush  of  the  mournful  melody. 

I  know  't  is  my  own  imagining, 

Yet  closer  to  Nero's  side  I  cling; 

Half  fearful,  half  entranced,  I  stay, 

Watching  the  moonbeams'  fitful  play, 

Till   the    horn   from  the  farm-house  warns  me 

back, 
And  Nero  bounds  on  the  homeward  track. 

Swiftly  those  holidays  flew  by, 

And  I  turned  to  my  books  with  a  hea\ry  sigh; 

For  their  cold,  stern  pages  offered  not 

The  loftier  lessons  nature  tauffht. 


REMINISCENCES  OF   CHILDHOOD.          57 

I  cared  not  to  learn  their  lore  profound,  — 
Why  the  rosy  apple  fell  to  the  ground, 
Or  the  stars,  long  wakeful,  one  by  one 
Closed  their  sweet  eyes  from  the  dazzling  sun. 
Enough  for  me    to  feel  and  share 
The  beauty  that  met  me  everywhere ; 
Enough  to  feel,  and  to  enjoy, 
Without  reflection's  cold  alloy. 


POEM 

READ  AT  THE  RECEPTION  FOR  MRS.  LUCY  STONE. 

THE  sentiment  the  most  divine  and  human, 
The  oppressed  and  weak  to  cherish  and  de 
fend, 
The  key-note  is  of  the  devoted  woman 

"Whom    all   her   sex    may  proudly  claim   as 
friend. 

Not  hers  the  maxim  by  rude  power   respected, 
"  From  him  that  hath  not  shall  be  taken  all." 

Is  any  class  by  law  left  unprotected  ? 

Their  cause  is  hers,  with  them  to  stand    or 
faU. 

Not  even  their  thankless  scorn  can  irritate  her, 
"With  power  to  embitter  or  impair 

So  radically  sweet  and  strong  a  nature, 

Revealed  in  word  and  deed,  in  voice  and  air. 


POEM.  59 

How  potent  are  her  powers  of  persuasion, 
All  studied  art  and  rhetoric  above  ! 

How  just  and  eloquent  her  indignation, 
An  anger  beautiful  and  kin  to  love ! 

But  adequate  return  or  thanks  to  tender 
Is  not  for  us,  a  humble,  loving  few; 

In  future  years  a  grateful  world  will  render 
Remorsefully  the  honor  long  her  due. 

Gladly  we  recognize  her  noble  mission, 
But  not  by  this  a  favor  we  confer, 

For  by  a  just  and  timely  recognition 
Ourselves  it  is  we  honor  more  than  her. 


A.  W.  M. 

STRANGEST  contrasts  blend  in  thee 
With  bewildering  witchery : 
Earnest  aims,  yet  playful  ways, 
Turning  work  to  holidays  ; 
Zeal  impetuously  impelling, 
Cool  discretion  curbing,  quelling ; 
Words  direct  that  hit  the  white 
Like  a  searching  line  of  light ; 
Candor  that  can  ne'er  conceal, 
Words  that  wound  and  deeds  that  heal; 
Bantering  airs  that  ill  accord 
With  a  dress  severe  and  odd ; 
Feelings  warm,  and  judgment  cool, 
The  heart  to  serve,  the  mind  to  rule. 


H.  M.  P. 

LOVELIEST  of  all  gifts  has  she, 

Large  and  tender  sympathy. 

In  your  very  moodiest  mood 

She  can  tenderly  intrude, 

And  all  medicine  beyond 

Lift  you  from  the  "  Slough  Despond  ; " 

For  her  nature,  large  and  fine, 

Can  all  men  and  moods  divine ; 

All  your  wrongs  before  they're  shown 

She  will  fondly  make  her  own ; 

All  your  failings  she  avers 

Lovingly  are  likewise  hers, 

And  in  that  attractive  light 

You  begin  to  love  them  quite. 

Though  with  all  that 's  best  imbued 

She  is  never  "  unco  gude." 


TO  HARRIET. 

WHEN   long    ago,  O   sweetest  friend,  I  found 

thee, 

How  little  could  my  childish  heart  divine 
The  love-inspiring  influence  around  thee, 

The    blessings  then  in  store  for  me  through 
thine ! 

The  counsel  wise,  the  ready  aid  unfailing, 
The  sympathy  spontaneous  and  free, 

And  over  all  the  affluent  love  prevailing, 
And  like  a  magnet  drawing  all  to  thee. 

Thy  keen  discernment  and  appreciation, 
All  good  in  others  quickly  to  divine, 

Are  mated  by  the  ready  indignation 

With  which  their  wrongs  are  tenderly  made 
thine. 


TO  HARRIET.  63 

When  sorrow  came    the  fondest  ties  to  sever, 
When  my  benighted  eyes  no  cheer  could  see, 

Straining  for  gleams  of    heaven  with  vain  en 
deavor, 
What  has  thy  clearer  vision  been  to  me ! 

When  to  my  dimmed  eyes  came  no  revela 
tions, 

Consoling  visions  have  I  had  through  thine  ; 
The  example  of  thy  touching  trust  and  patience, 

How  often  has  it  stimulated  mine ! 

How  without  uttered  word,  like  warmth  per 
vading, 

Thy  very  presence  has  serenely  wrought, 
Dispelling  doubt  and  to  all  peace  persuading, 

A  soothing  balm  to  my  rebellious  thought ! 

And  thus  is  the  ascending  path  made  clearer, 
And  discord  is  resolved  in  harmony ; 

The  far-off  heaven,  O  beloved,  is  nearer, 
And    earth  more  precious  for  the  thought  of 
thee. 


LUCRETIA    MOTT  AND  LYDIA  MARIA 
CHILD. 

Ix  the  great  moral  conflict  of  our  nation, 
Two  forms  are  eminent  the  strife  above, 

Divinely  blending  manly  force  and  courage 
With  all  a  woman's  tenderness  and  love. 

They  walked    unflinching    where    e'en    heroes 

faltered, 
They  braved  with  smiling  front  the  world's 

dread  scorn, 

They  found  their  rest  in  earnest  toil  for  others, 
They  found  their  joy  in  helping  the  forlorn. 

Their  urgent  and  resistless  force  of  feeling 
Was  held  in  sway  by  equal  force  of  mind, 

And  always  were  their  words  and  acts  revealing 
Wisdom  and  love  harmoniously  combined. 


LUCRETIA   MOTT,  LYDIA   MARIA    CHILD.      65 

This  harmony  will  echo  and  reecho, 

Though  their  beloved  forms  no  more  we  see, 

Their  words  and  deeds    are    still   our  benedic 
tion, 
Their  lives  inspire  us  perpetually. 

Still  shines  their  light  to  elevate  and  cheer  us, 
We  feel  their  influence  serene  and  strong; 

Better  and  happier    are    our  lives  forever 
That  we  have  known  them  and   have   loved 
them  long. 


CONSOLA. 

THE  worldling  oft  in  curious  wonder  glances 
At  the  meek  air  of  quiet  Quakeress, 

But  ne'er  divines  the  rebel  thoughts  and   fan 
cies 
That  riot  'neath  that  placid  mien  and  dress. 

Consola,  reared  with  tender  supervision, 
In  strict  conformance  to  the  Quaker  rules, 

Confessed  to  many  a  treacherous  intuition 
Never  yet  learned  or  unlearned  in  the  schools. 

Forbidden  longings,  innocent  and  human, 
She,  secretly  impenitent,  repressed ; 

For,    hovering    still    between    the    child    an.l 

woman, 
She  had  not  found  the  courage  to  protest. 


CONSOLA.  67 

An  eye  had  she  for  all  the  alluring  graces, 
For    air,    and     dress    by    pretty  worldlings 

worn  — 

The  flowing  fall  of  ribbons,  robes,  and  laces, 
The    tints    that   mock   the   sunset   and    the 
dawn. 

She  was  content  to  enjoy  this  decoration  — 
Or   tried  to  be  —  in  others'  dress  alone, 

But  ventured  on  one  little  innovation 
To  mitigate  the  primness  of  her  own. 

Deftly  a  silken  pocket  she  embroidered, 
To  don,  or  doff  if  elders  thought  it  sin  ; 

And  lovingly  she  o'er  the  labor  loitered, 

Weaving  her  fancies  and  her  hopes  therein. 

Would  Luther  notice  it,  and  think  it  pretty? 

Would  he  like  rose,  or  blue,  or  lilac  best? 
Or  would  he  criticise,  and  think  —  oh,  pity  !  - 

Her  heart  by  foolish  vanity  possessed? 


68  CONSOLA. 

Luther  at  meeting  waited  her  arrival, 

Knew  the  old  bay,  and  helped  her  to  alight ; 

But  what  he  saw  was  not  the  embroidered  trifle, 
Had    it    been    twenty    times     as    fair    and 
bright. 

He  saw  the  blue  eyes  by  long  lashes  shaded, 
Whose  speaking  power  enhanced  the  charm 
of  words 

That  seemed  to  sweetest  music  modulated, 
Dearer  to  him  than  morning  song  of  birds. 

He  saw  the  roseate  glow  that,  coming,  going, 
Unconsciously  revealed  each  varying  mood ; 

The  ruling  one  an  artless  overflowing 
Of  loving-kindness  and  solicitude. 

Long  had  he  sought  in  vain  for  an  occasion 
To    tell    his    love,    and    this    day    he    had 
planned 

To  leave  a  simple  written  declaration 
Safely  within  her  little  greeting  hand. 


CONSOLA.  69 

But  watchful  eyes  in  close  approximation 
Thwarted  his  dear  design,  and,  sorely  tried, 

On  entering  church,  with  sudden  desperation, 
He  dropped  it  in  the  pocket  at  her  side. 

She,  all  unconscious  of  its  intervention, 

To     serious     things     devoutly     turned     her 
thought, 

And  soon  commanded  her  enrapt  attention 
The  ministration  of  Lucretia  Mott. 

With  eloquent,  persuasive  exhortation 
She  pictured  slavery,  its  woe  and  sin, 

And    roused    the    conscience    of   the    congrega 
tion 
To  feel  its  own  complicity  therein. 

Consola,  with  the  gentle  sect  to  screen  her, 
Had    little    known    of    suffering,  wrong,  or 
thrall, 

And  all  the  woman  dormant  yet  within  her 
Kose  in  response  to  that  resistless  call. 


70  CONSOLA. 

It  lent   new  force  to  long-accepted  teaching, 
To  life  and  love  a  larger  meaning  gave ; 

And   leaving   church,   she    said,  with  eyes   be 
seeching, 
"O  Luther,  let  us  labor  for  the  slave!" 

At  home,  her  former  mood  severely  scorning, 
The     embroidered     bauble     far      away     she 

tossed, 

And,  gathered    up  with    refuse    of    the    morn 
ing 
By  accident  't  was  carried  off  and  lost. 

Luther,  endeavoring  to  frame  excuses 
That  might  explain  a  silence  so  remiss, 

Forgiving,  said,  "  The  tender  heart  refuses 
To  answer  no,  yet  cannot  answer  yes." 

But  with  his  grief  he  manfully  contended, 
And  all  his  youthful  force  and  fervor  threw 

Into  the  larger  struggle  which  impended,  — 
The  cause  of  Freedom,  and  Consola's  too. 


CONSOLA.  71 

Together,  with  indomitable  ardor, 

They  breasted    prejudice,    they   laughed    at 

scorn, 

While  he,  solicitous  to  guide  and  guard  her, 
Smoothed  the  rough  path,  intent  to  help  or 
warn. 

To  this  enlarging  labor  dedicated, 
They  daily  grew  in  a  diviner  grace, 

And  into  words  far-reaching  he  translated 
The  appealing  pity  of  her  speaking  face. 

The  sudden  vision  of  a  sweeter  blessing 

Would  sometimes  gleam  athwart   them    and 
above, 

While  in  each  other's  friendship  still  confessing 
A  dearer  charm  than  any  other's  love ; 

Until,  in  an  old  chest  by  chance  neglected, 
After  four  years  of  earnest  effort  passed, 

Its  precious  contents  safe  and  unsuspected, 
The  long-lost  pocket  came  to  light  at  last. 


72  CONSOLA. 

And  then  the  past  rose  clear  and  plain  before 
her,  — 

His  oft-revealed  but  ne'er-intruded  love, 
His  fending  foresight  like  an  aegis  o'er  her, 

His  ready  sympathy  even  help  above. 

She  sought  him  soon,  confusedly  explaining 
How  on  that  day  the  pocket  went  astray, 
And    now  was    found ;  but    here,  her  courage 

waning, 

She    paused,  and    turned    her   tell-tale   face 
away. 

He  flushed,  then  paled,  with  doubt  and  long 
ing  rifted, 

And  while  hope  wavering  still  seemed  afar, 
Her  tearful  tender  eyes  to  his  she  lifted, 

Revealing  heaven  —  with  the  gates  ajar. 


NATURE. 


MORNING  AND  NIGHT. 

SHE  comes !  the  universe  awakes  to  greet  her, 
With    rapturous    joy    the    heart    of   nature 

thrills  ; 
Bright  thoughts  and  buoyant  hopes  leap  forth 

to  meet  her, 

And  life,  at  her  warm  glance,  the  faint  heart 
fills. 

The  heavens  reflect  the  azure  of  her  eye, 
The  earth  gives  back  her  sweet  and  radiant 

smile, 

The  winds  and  waters  to  her  voice  reply, 
And  chant  the  measure   of   her   step  mean 
while. 

Her  airy  foot-falls  scarcely  brush  the  dews, 
And    leave,    where'er    they    light,  a    greener 
trace  ; 


76  MORNING  AND  NIGHT. 

Her    radiant    eyes    give   to    the    flowers    their 

hues, 

Her   breath  their   fragrance,  and   her  touch 
their  grace. 

Her  lustrous  hair  has  caught  the  sun's  bright 

beams, 
And  robbed  them  of  their   gay  and    golden 

store ; 

The  rainbow  she  hath  rifled,  and  it  seems, 
Enrobing  her,  to  win  one  grace  the  more. 

Darkness  and  sin,  beneath  her  searching 
glances, 

Shrink  swiftly,  cowering  and  abashed,  away, 
And  fear  and  cankered  care,  as  she  advances, 

Vanish  like  phantoms  that  avoid  the  day. 

She  passes  on,  and  ever  in  her  train 
Follows  a  joyous  troop  of  rosy  hours ; 

O'er  pride  and  luxury,  misery  and  pain, 

O'er    rich    and  poor    alike,  her  wealth    she 
showers. 


MORNING  AND  NIGHT.  77 

She  stops  not  at  the  mansions  of  the  great, 
She  gladdens  the  poor  sinner's  lonely  cell ; 

She  lights  the  lowly  hut,  the  halls  of  state, 
And  lingers  fondly  where  her  lovers  dwell. 

Gently  she  passes  from  the  world  away, 
And  the  earth  seems  a  shade  less   fair   and 
young  ; 

Yet  memory  of  her,  throughout  the  day, 
Speeds  lightly  all  the  after  hours  along. 

But  daylight  dies,  and  lo !  a  loftier  presence 
Fills  the  green  courts  where  late  her    reign 
hath  been ; 

Her  subjects  all  forsake  their  old  allegiance, 
And  offer  homage  to  a  rival  queen. 

She  comes  not  like  her  younger  sister,  calling 
The  world    to  welcome    her  with    song  and 

dance, 

Lightly  and  noiselessly  her    spells  are  falling, 
And  the  awed  earth  is  hushed  beneath    her 
glance. 


78  MORNING  AND  NIGHT. 

A  holier  radiance  lights  her  earnest  eye, 
A  heavenly  halo  crowns  her  paler  brow; 

The  sense  was  then  a  captive  willingly, 

The  soul   bows  down  with  deeper   reverence 
now. 

The  moon  and  stars  attend  her  on  her  way, 
And  by  their  pale  and  mystic  light  reveal 

The  grace  her  every  motion  doth  betray, 
The    form    her    shadowy  robes    would    fain 
conceal. 

At  her  approach,  the  flowers,  bending  low, 
Incline  their  graceful  heads  in  silent  prayer, 

And  while  her  gentle  hands    sweet    dews    be 
stow, 
Their  fragrant  lips  anoint  her  trailing  hair. 

She  brings  dear  visions  to  the  homesick  mind, 
And  welcome  rest  to  the  o'erwearied  limbs ; 

She  gives  a  foretaste  of  those  realms  divine 
Whose  glory  and  whose  purity  she  hymns. 


MORNING  AND  NIGHT.  79 

Like  some  sweet  strain  of  music  sad  and  low, 
Her    presence    moves    the  inmost  soul,  and 
seems 

To  waken  memories  of  long  ago, 

To  image  the  beloved  we  meet  in  dreams. 

All  high  and  holy  mysteries  attend  her, 
All  gentle  influences  round  her  throng, 

And  spiritual  beings  freely  lend  her 

The  glory  that  to  their  own  spheres  belong. 

Kind  angel !  without  thy  alternate  reign, 
Morn  were  no  longer  beautiful  and  bright ; 

Her    sunniest    smile    and    glance,  her  sweetest 

strain, 
Her  dearest  spell  she  owes  to  thee,  O  Night ! 


MORNING. 

O'ER  hill  and  valley  the  young  day  is  breaking, 
The  waters  dancing  in  the  morning  beams  ; 

With  eager  step  my  couch  and  home  forsaking, 
I  share  the  joy  which  through  all  nature 
streams. 

The  flowers  from  their  grassy  beds  are  peeping, 
Roused  by  the  kisses  of  the  sun's  warm 

rays; 

The  choir  of  birds,  melodious  chorus  keeping, 
Make    the  woods  vocal  with   their   notes  of 
praise. 

O  morning  sun !    my  heart   too  leaps  to  greet 

thee, 

And  like  the  flowers  I  revel  in  thy  ray. 
Ah!  those  who,  dallying,  do  not  rise  to    meet 

thee 
Lose  the  best  hours  of  the  golden  dav. 


THE   ROSE. 

ONCE    more    art    thou  come  to  delight  us,  O 

lovely  and  long-looked-for  wonder ! 
All   has    been  ready  and  waiting,  impatient 

thy  advent  to  see. 
The    sunbeams,  for    thee,  long    ago    broke    the 

fetters  of  winter  asunder, 
The    breezes    have  softened  to  sighing,    the 
hard  earth  grown  tender  for  thee. 

The    flowers    that    blossomed    before  thee  were 

but  thy  attendants  in  waiting, 
Were  only  thy  prophets   and   heralds,    fore 
telling,  announcing,  their  queen  ; 
The  season,  progressive  in    beauty,  at   last    in 

the  Rose  culminating, 

Is  stayed  by  thy  perfect  completeness,    con 
tent  on  her  laurels  to  lean. 


82  THE  ROSE. 

I  know  why  in  June  the    sun's   glances   grow 

ever  more  ardent  and  stronger, 
I  know  why  so  radiant  the  mornings,  so  long 

and  so  lustrous  the  days, 
Because    the    sun  lingers    at    even    to    look  on 

thy  loveliness  longer, 

And  hurries  the  dawn  to  renew  his  all-thrill 
ing,  insatiate  gaze. 

O  thou  in  all  ages  and  nations  sweet  symbol  of 

sweetest  emotion  I 
The  synonym  almost  of  joy  is  the  tint  which 

the  world  to  thee  owes ; 
And  when  we  would  wish  for  our  darling  the 

fairest  and  happiest  portion, 
We  say,  "  Be  her  path  strewn  with  roses,  her 
future  be  couleur  de  rose." 


THE   ROSE. 

Ail,  gentle  maiden,  why 

Pass  me  so  lightly  by, 
Deeming  me  destitute  of  sense  and  soul? 

More  lavishly  endowed 

Than  my  contemners  proud, 
I  hear  in  song  the  stars  and  seasons  roll. 

Low  voices  greet  mine  ear 
That  mortals  may  not  hear, 

Music  their  duller  sense  has  never  known ; 
I  hold  most  sweet  discourse 
With  life's  mysterious  source, 

And  yield  obedience  unto  God  alone. 

Nature  reveals  to  me 
Much  hidden  mystery, 

She  speaks    a    language  which    no    school    has 
tauLfht ; 


84  THE  ROSE. 

Her  voices  sweet  and  clear 
Proud  man  can  never  hear, 
Audible  only  to  the  pure  in  thought. 

I  bathe  in  floods  of  light, 
And  from  the  hand  of  night 

I  drink  inspiring  draughts  of  crystal  dew; 
Nor  care,  nor  toil,  nor  strife, 
Invade  my  charmed  life, 

I  wake  each  morn  to  rapture  ever  new. 

I  know  no  selfish  love, 
All  pride,  all  shame  above, 

My  being  freely  do  I  offer  up  ; 
I  taste  ethereal  bliss 
In  the  sweet  zephyr's  kiss, 

And  give  back  incense  from  my  dewy  cup. 

Laden  with  that  rich  freight, 
On  mortals  he  may  wait, 
And  give  my  fragrant  store  of  sweets  away ; 


THE  ROSE.  85 

Again  when  he  returns, 
My  heart  with  rapture  burns, 
Again  I  offer  all,  nor  ask  repay. 

I  do  not  waste  my  life, 

With  such  pure  pleasure  rife, 
In  idle  longings  for  some  higher  part ; 

The  present  is  to  me 

An  immortality, 

And  heaven  bends  low  and  reigns  within    my 
heart. 

I  know,  though  I  am  gone, 
The  rose  will  still  live  on, 

The  soul,  the  beauty,  I  now  body  forth  ; 
Immortal  and  divine, 
In  other  forms  than  mine, 

Will  still  add  glory  to  the  glorious  earth. 


THE  COLUMBINE. 

BY  the  rugged  rocks  where  the  mosses  grow, 

Its  wild  and  airy  nooks  I  know. 

The  craggy  rocks  that  were  else  forlorn 

It  loves  to  cling  to  and  adorn. 

Dearer  that  firm  friend,  stern  and  strong, 

Than    the    yielding    turf    where    the    lowlands 

throng ; 

Dearer  by  far  that  rude  retreat, 
With  the  mosses  clustering  round  its  feet, 
Than  the  bordered  bed,  where  tender  hands 
Foster  the  flowers  of  far-off  lands. 

Reared  by  the  rude  rock,  nursed  by  the  rain, 
Rocked  to  rest  by  the  wind's  wild  strain, 
Fair  and  flexile,  yet  fearless  and  free, 
A  fetterless  child  of  the  mountain,  she. 


TUB  COLUMBINE.  87 

No  garden  wall  may  her  beauties  bind, 
She  is  wooed  in  turn  by  every  wind. 
But  to  all  the  rude  North  Wind  may  say 
She  will  shake  her  willful  head  alway. 
If  in  ire  he  threaten  and  rave  and  roar, 
She  will  only  shake  her  head  the  more. 
Sometimes,  to  evade  the  wrathful  storm, 
She  will  bend  to  earth  her  willowy  form, 
Feigning  a  moment  relenting  mood, 
Seemingly  sorry  and  subdued, 
Then  spring  erect  with  an  airy  grace, 
And  shake  her  head  in  his  very  face. 

The  sweet  South  Wind,  with  his  gentle  sway 

And  soft,  insinuating  way, 

And  alluring  tales  of  his  native  clime, 

Where  the  flowerets  dread  no  winter  time, 

She  will  graciously  hear ;  but,  when  all  is  said, 

She  only  hangs  her  graceful  head. 

I  know  not  whether  this  favorite  wile 

Is  to  hide  a  blush  or  to  hide  a  smile ; 

But,  for  all  the  sweet  South  Wind  may  say, 

He  wears  no  favor  of  hers  away. 


88  THE  COLUMBINE. 

I  cannot  say;  but  it  seems  to  me 

She  reserves  her  sweets  for  the  wandering  bee, 

Or  a  tuneful  lover,  brilliant  and  bold, 

Who   wears   her    own    colors    of    scarlet    and 

gold, 

And  flitted  around  her  one  morning  in  May, 
And  kissed  the  dew  from  her  lips  away, 
And  won  her  ear  and  her  heart  so  free 
By  the  magic  might  of  his  minstrelsy. 
I  know  by  his  pausing,  and  listening  long, 
That  the  flower  returned  him  song  for  song ; 
But  my  coarser  sense  essayed  in  vain 
To  catch  that  fine,  aerial  strain. 

Sometimes,  when  Morning  flings  on  high 
Her  rosy  banners  o'er  all  the  sky, 
I  have  thought  I  could  hear  the  joyous  shout 
Which  all  those  beautiful  bells  ring  out ; 
But,  soon  as  they  hear  my  approaching  foot, 
The  chime  has  ceased,  the  flower  is  mute. 

I  am  loath  to  believe  it ;  but  it  may  be 
They  regard  me  as  their  enemy, 


THE  COLUMBINE.  89 

Because  I  invade  their  wild  retreat, 
And  carry  away  the  fair  and  sweet, 
The  freshest  and  fairest  cull  with  care, 
To  make  my  chamber  fresh  and  fair. 
I  wish  I  could  make  the  darlings  know 
It  is  only  because  I  love  them  so. 

Though  I  treat  them  ever  so  tenderly, 

I  may  seem  to  them  as  Death  seems  to  me,  — 

A  ruthless  monster  with  evil  eye, 

Who  passes  the  worn  and  the  weary  by, 

And    snatches    away    from   Love's    cherishing 

fold, 

To  illumine  his  cavern  so  lonesome  and  cold, 
The  dearest  bloom  in  Love's  sun  unfurled, 
Whose  eye  was  the  light  of  a  little  world, 
And  whose  warmth  and  glow  flung  over  all 
A  magic  and  resistless  thrall. 

O  dread  destroyer,  tell  me  not 

That  only  through  thee  may  heaven  be  sought ; 


90  THE  COLUMBINE. 

For  when  summer  comes  with  bloom  and  song, 
When  dawns  are  rosy  and  days  are  long, 
Then,  but  for  thy  retinue  and  thee, 
Earth  would  be  heaven  enough  for  me. 


THE  WOODS  OF  MELROSE. 

AGAIN,  O  you  dear  forest  trees, 
For  your  companionship  I  yearn  ; 

The  longing  love  which  you  appease 
I  fondly  fancy  you  return. 

For  when  I  left  you  yestermorn, 
And  cast  a  lingering  look  behind, 

Your  gestures  beckoned  my  return, 
Your  calls  came  to  me  on  the  wind. 

Oh  still  I  hear  those  sweet  recalls, 
The  extended  arms  I  seem  to  see, 

And  long  to  leave  the  city  walls, 
And  fly,  dear  Melrose,  back  to  thee. 


THE  FLOWER   HUNT. 

THE  flowers  awoke  one  summer's  day, 

By  a  shadowy  river  far  away, 

And  each  shook  off  the  dew-drops  bright, 

And  whispered  softly  its  dream  of  the  night. 

The  harebell  that  grew  on  the  mountain's  side 
Was  the  first  to  ring  an  alarum  wide, 
Then  looking  down  on  the  flowers  below, 
And  shaking  its  bright  head  to  and  fro, 

The  vision  it  told  with  mysterious  air, 
For  much  of  wonder  and  fear  were  there  ; 
And  its  sisters  looked  up  with  admiring  eyes, 
For   its    sweet   face   mirrored    the    clear  blue 
skies. 

The  fairy  that  slept  in  its  azure  bell, 
And  left  it  just  at  the  midnight  knell, 


THE  FLOWER  HUNT.  93 

A  warning  had  breathed  with  its  last  adieu, 
That  chilled  the  hearts  of  the  flowery  crew : 

"  Renew  not  to-morrow  your  love  and  bliss, 
Dream  not  to-night  of  the  butterfly's  kiss  ; 
For  before  another  sun  shall  set 
A  fearful  foe  must  be  shunned  or  met." 

Then  every  flower,  with  tear-drops  hung, 
Its  morning  melody  sadly  sung ; 
For  each  had  a  boding  dream  to  tell, 
"Which  chimed  with  the  peal  of  the  blue  hare 
bell. 

Oh !  the  woodland  moaned  then  mournfully, 
Like   the   troubled  waves   of   the  wind  -  swept 

sea ; 

And  leaf  and  flower  rocked  to  and  fro 
In  a  tremulous  dread  of  coming  woe. 

A  council  of  war  was  held  straightway, 
But  whence  the  foe  no  seer  could  say; 


94  THE  FLOWER  HUNT. 

And  a  strife  arose  which  was  sad  to  see, 
Among  flowers  that  had  lived  so  lovingly. 

The  thistle  lifted  its  purple  crown, 

And  threatened  to  put  all  its  rivals  down ; 

With  spears  all  pointed,  and  armor  tight, 

It  claimed  the  lead  as  its  natural  right. 

But  the  listeners  laughed  with  republican  scorn, 

When  it  boasted  of  being  nobly  born. 

In  idle  debate  the  time  flew  by, 
Till  the  sun  in  the  clouded  heavens  rode  high, 
And  the  flowers  trembled  at  every  sound, 
As  the  woe-fraught  hours  were  rolling  round. 

At  length  on  the  hushed  and  listening  air 
A  murmur  was   borne  to  the  tremblers  there ; 
At  first  like  the  distant  waving  of  trees, 
Then  nearer  and  louder  it  came  on  the  breeze. 

Light  laughter  peals  rang  merrily  out, 
And  the  echoing  hills  gave  back  the  shout; 


THE  FLOWER  HUNT.  95 

To  the  flowerets  all,  ah !  sound  of  fear, 

For  they  knew  too  well  the  hunters  were  near. 

From  afar  they  had  scented  the  delicate  game, 
And  onward  in  cruel  haste  they  came 
With  song  and  jest,  in  girlish  sport, 
Unmindful  of  the  dread  they  wrought. 

Little  hunting  gear  the  troop  displayed, 
Their  only  arms  a  tiny  blade, 
And  a  delicate  cord  to  bind  their  prey, 
Which  the  wooing  winds  might  lure  away. 

Each  flower  shrank  to  the  darkest  place, 

Lamenting  too  late  its  lovely  face, 

And  vainly  tried  to  subdue  or  hide 

The  brilliant  hues  that  were  once  its  pride. 

The  wild  rose  caught  the  first  maiden's  glance, 
And  paled  at  sight  of  her  unsheathed  lance. 
With  remorseless  haste  the  blade  she  drew, 
Her  eager  aim  was  fatally  true  ; 


96  THE  FLOWER  HUNT. 

The  rose's  prayer  was  unheeded,  unheard, 
And  fluttering  it  fell  like  a  wounded  bird. 


Poor  fated  thing,  't  was  the  latest  comer, 
The  last  and  the  loveliest  rose  of  summer ; 
Its  blushing  leaves  were  but  just  unfurled, 
It  was  loath  to  leave  the  lovely  world. 

The  clematis  twined  round  the  nearest  tree, 

And  thought  to  escape  captivity ; 

Wildly  and  lovingly  it  clung, 

When  the  spoiler's  grasp  all  its  tendrils  wrung. 

Close  and  closer,  ah,  vain  endeavor ! 

They  were  parted  to  meet  no  more  forever ; 

Its    beautiful    blossoms  were   wreathed  in    the 

curls 
And  round  the  hats  of  the  reckless  girls. 

The  humming-bird  had  been  whispering  low 
To  the  honeysuckle,  the  long  day  through; 
The  bee  had  courted  the  clover  blossom, 
And  nestled  close  to  its  bounteous  bosom ; 


THE  FLOWER  HUNT.  97 

And  the  laurel  opened  its  honey  cell 

To  the  butterfly  it  loved  so  well, 

But  when  danger  came  the  lovers  had  flown, 

And  the  flowers  were  left  to  die  alone. 

The  water-lily  had  lifted  up, 
On  the  lake's  calm  bosom,  its  snowy  cup, 
And  with  fearless  air  it  floated  there, 
For  to  brave  the  deep  no  maiden  dare. 

They  marked  its  grace  with  wistful  eye, 
As  its  fragrant  breath  on  the  air  came  by ; 
And    the   lily   laughed    low    their    despair    to 

see, 
And  unfolded  its  petals  coquettishly. 

Dearly  the  thistle  sold  its  life, 

For  the  blood  of  the  slayer  flowed  in  the  strife  ; 

It  cast  one  dying  look  around, 

And  saw  all  its  humbler  comrades  bound. 

The  proud  and  the  meek  were  alike  laid  low, 
In  the  stern  democracy  of  woe  ; 


98  THE  FLOWER  HUNT. 

The  blue-eyed  grass,  and  the  mountain's  pride, 
And  the  lady's  slipper  lay  side  by  side. 

The  stately  laurel  bled  on  the  sod, 

With  the  buttercup  and  the  golden-rod; 

And  the  plebeian  dandelion  fell, 

By  the  same  rude  hand,  with  the  blue  harebell. 

Their  incense  no  more  at  the  sun's  first  rays 
Will  they  offer  up  to  their  Author's  praise  ; 
No   more  will    they  start    from    their  morning 

dream, 
Their  toilet  to  make  in  the  silver  stream. 

The  morn  rose  sad  o'er  the  desolate  scene, 
To  gaze  on  the  spot  where  the  spoilers  had  been  ; 
And  the  river  with  mournful  song  flowed  on, 
Lamenting  the  beauty  and  love  that  had  gone. 

The  flowers,  meanwhile,  all  bound  and  wayworn, 
In  the  captors'  train  were  triumphantly  borne ; 
But  few  survived  to  reach  the  place 
Their  beauty  and  odor  were  meant  to  grace. 


TlIE  FLOWER  HUNT.  99 

Some  perished  with  grief,  from  their  loved  ones 

torn ; 
Others    fainted  with    fear    ere   the  march  was 

done ; 

The  fairest,  the  sweetest,  the  greenwood's  prido, 
All  hung  their  beautifid  heads,  and  died. 


SEPTEMBER. 

LEND  me  fit  strains  to  echo  thy  renown 
Ere  thy  sweet  voices  on  the  ear  have  died, 

O  golden  season  !  even  in  thy  frown 

More  beautiful  than  all  the  year  beside. 

At  thy  approach,  the  sun,  that  wantonly 
Had  parched  the  fair  earth  with  his  fiery  eye, 

Stands  reverently  off,  and  ventures  only 
To  kiss  thy  kirtle  as  thou  passest  by. 

Thee  e'en  the  frost  spirit  has  no  heart  to  harm  ; 

He  lays  his  icy  fingers  lightly  on, 
And,  adding  to  thy  dower  another  charm, 

Delays  his  work  of  death  till  thou  art  gone. 

The  blue  sky  lovingly  around  thee  closes, 
The    heavens    look    fondly  down,   and    seem 
more  near, 


SEPTEMBER.  101 

Thou    lackest    only    June's    sweet    wreath    of 

roses, 

Dear  month,  to  crown  thee  queen  of  all  the 
year. 


AUTUMN. 

O  SADDEST,  sweetest  season  of  the  year, 
O  wildest,  loveliest  time,  all  times  excelling, 

Though  every  smile  of  thine  conceals  a  tear, 
And  every  wind  a  sorrow  seems  foretelling  ! 

O  wildest,  loveliest  time  of  all  the  year, 

When  the  leaves  turn,  and  the  turned  leaves 

are  falling, 
What  pains,  what  pleasures,  sacred,  blest,  and 

dear, 
Thy  scenes  and  thy  wild  voices  are  recalling  ! 

Thy  purple  pomp  at  dawn  is  written  o'er 
With  sweet  associations,  sad  and  solemn ; 

Thy  evening  skies  recall  for  evermore 

The  dear  eyes  that  have  gazed  so  fondly  on 
them. 


AUTUMN.  103 

Thy    wild    winds    whisper  strange,    mysterious 

things, 

Weird  wonders,  never  told  in  olden  story  ; 
Thy  golden  sunsets  shame  the  pomp  of  kings, 
And  flood  earth's  fading  fields  with  heaven's 
glory. 

All  soft  and  radiant  hues  unite  to  deck  thee, 
All  thrilling  tones  make  musical  thy  reign  ; 

And  though  with  crowding  tears  I  often  greet 

thee, 
Such  tears  I  willingly  would  weep  again. 

The  melodies  of  Spring-time  may  be  gayer, 
And  laughing  Summer  rosier  garlands  wear; 

O  Autumn,  mightier  spells  around  thee  gather, 
And  Life  and  Death  unite  to  make  thee  fair ! 

1845. 


WINTER'S  TRIUMPH. 

EARTH  had  lost  her  verdant  mantle, 
Drear  and  bare  stood  bush  and  tree, 

Ghostlike  wailing, 

Unavailing, 
Their  departed  pageantry. 

From  the  desolated  forest, 

From  the  sad  earth,  brown  and  dry, 

Night  winds  borrow 

Song  of  sorrow, 
Waft  it  upwards  to  the  sky. 

•  Not  alone  for  vanished  glory 
And  departed  power  we  moan ; 

When  we  render 

All  our  splendor, 
Then  our  lovers  too  have  flown. 


WINTER'S  TRIUMPH.  105 

"  All  our  green  haunts  are  forsaken, 
And  in  lighted  halls  they  boast 

Flowers  fairer, 

Jewels  rarer, 
Than  the  glory  we  have  lost. 

"  All  the  gems  of  earth  and  ocean 
Art  has  cunningly  combined, 

And  bereft  us, 

Till  is  left  us 
Not  a  votary  behind." 

Pityingly  the  heavens  listened, 
Tenderly  the  skies  bent  down, 

Lowly  bending, 

Earthward  sending 
Tears  of  sympathy  profound. 

Then  the  clouds  all  leagued  together, 
Each  some  friendly  force  employs, 

And  that  frost-sprite 

Who  by  starlight 
Works  such  wonders  without  noise. 


106  WINTER'S  TRIUMPH. 

"  Earth,  dear  mother !  we  will  deck  her, 
We  will  make  her  cause  our  own ; 

Regal  splendor 

We  will  lend  her, 
Such  as  art  has  never  known." 

Cheerly  on  the  task  they  entered, 
Noiselessly  their  soft  strokes  fell, 

But  by  morning, 

Without  warning, 
Lo!  a  wondrous  miracle. 

Field  and  forest,  rock  and  river, 
Purest  diamonds  displayed ; 

Frail  and  airy, 

Work  of  fairy 
Never  more  amazement  made. 

Emerald,  amethyst,  and  ruby 

Blent  their  hues  with  diamond  sheen; 

When  the  sun  rose, 

Radiant  rainbows 
Were  in  each  clear  crystal  seen. 


WINTER'S  TRIUMPH.  107 

Marble  pavement,  smoother,  purer 
Than  in  Persian  tales  you  meet ; 

Hall  ne'er  offered, 

Palace  proffered, 
Fairer  floor  for  monarch's  feet. 

Gothic  arch,  with  diamond  columns, 
Glittered  through  the  spacious  hall ; 

Sparkling  fountains, 

From  the  mountains, 
Turned  to  crystals  in  their  fall. 

Art  shrunk  back  with  awe  and  wonder, 
And  the  most  insensate  felt, 

At  that  hour, 

Beauty's  power, 
And  at  Nature's  altar  knelt. 

Many  days  their  weight  of  splendor 
Shrub  and  tree  in  triumph  wore; 

Thousands  gazing, 

Thousands  praising,  — 
Could  they  wish  or  ask  for  more  ? 


108  WINTER'S  TRIUMPH. 

"  Oh,  take  back  this  heartless  glitter ! 
Riches  are  a  weight  of  woe  ; 

They  will  cost  us,  — 

They  have  lost  us 
Ease  and  freedom,  —  let  them  go !  " 

Then  the  warm  and  genial  sunbeams 
Melted  all  that  cold  display, 

Like  all  glory, 

Transitory, 
Fading  into  mist  away. 

1845. 


FANCY. 


LITTLE   MARGERY. 

WHAT  is  the  secret  of  her  sway, 
This  little  queen  without  resources? 

She  has  not  strength,  she  has  not  wealth, 
And  no  array  of  armed  forces. 

She  has  no  wisdom,  yet  the  wise 
Bow  down  submissively  before  her; 

No  jeweled  crown  to  daze  all  eyes, 
Yet  is  she  welcomed  like  Aurora. 

No  armed  forces  did  I  say  ? 

With  two  soft  arms  this  small  magician 
Has  but  to  beckon,  and  straightway 

A  host  is  at  her  disposition. 

No  jewels  ?     Where  can  gems  be  found 
Of  her  dark  eyes  to  match  the  wonder, 


112  LITTLE  MARGERY. 

In  whose  unfathomable  depth 
Are  all  the  riches  of  Golconda? 


No  wealth  has  she  ?     In  love  alone 
So  cunningly  has  she  invested 

That  ten  times  ten  per  cent,  returns 
Her  wealth  and  wisdom  have  attested. 

1886. 


TO  E.  F. 

OH  fly,  little  card,  over  hill  and  vale, 
On  the  wings  of  the  wind  away, 

To  the  beautiful  city  in  morning  land 
In  the  arms  of  Casco  Bay. 

And  carry  my  love  to  a  dear  little  maid, 
A  sweet  little  friend  of  mine  ; 

For  't  is  she  I  choose,  if  she  '11  not  refuse, 
To  be  my  Valentine. 


REPLY  TO   A  VALENTINE. 

FROM   E.    W.    F. 

DEAREST  little  friend  of  mine, 
Wouldst  thou  be  my  Valentine? 
For  the  kiss  that  came  to  me, 
I  will  send  back    one,  two,  three  — 
Three  of  mine  are  merely  meet 
Pay  for  one  so  dainty  sweet. 

Something  I  should  like  to  send 
To  my  darling  little  friend 
That  would  make  his  sweet  blue  eyes 
Open  wide  with  glad  surprise. 
Naught  I  know  in  earth  or  air 
That  would  be  too  fine  or  fair. 
I  would  drain  the  affluent  sea, 
Little  darling,  all  for  thee  ; 


REPLY  TO  A    VALENTINE.  115 

Flowers  none  so  fair  or  sweet 
I  would  scatter  at  thy  feet, 
And  would  fill  thy  little  hands 
With  the  fruit  of  sunny  lands. 
But  instead  of  fruit  and  flowers 
Round  me  fall  the  wintry  showers; 
So  that,  after  wishing  long, 
I  can  only  send  a  song. 


TEN  LITTLE   HUMMING-BIRDS. 

TEN  little  humming-birds  flying  forth  to  dine, 
One  of  them  ate  too  much,  then  there  were  but 

nine. 

Nine  little  robins  searching  for  a  mate, 
One  of  them  was  married,  then  there  were  but 

eight. 

Eight  little  skylarks  soaring  up  to  heaven, 
One  of  them  stayed  there,  then  there  were  but 

seven. 

Seven  little  cherry-birds  getting  in  a  fix, 
One  could  not  get  out  again,  then  there  were 

but  six. 

Six  little  ducklings  going  in  to  dive, 
One  sailed  down  the  river,  then  there  were  but 

five. 
Five  little  sparrows  peeping  in   at  the    church 

door, 
One  went  in  to  hear  the  music,  then  there  but 

four. 


TEN  LITTLE  HUMMING-BIRDS.        117 

Four  little  nestlings  could  not  all  agree, 
One  of  them  fell  out,  and  then  there  were  but 

three. 

Three  little  swallows  in  a  chimney  flue, 
One  went  down    to  see  the   folks,  then    there 

were  but  two. 

Two  little  owlets  hooting  to  the  moon, 
One  became  a  lunatic,  then  there  was  but  one. 
One  little  whippoorwill  sitting  on  a  stone, 
Singing    through    the    long    night,  "  I  am   all 

alone." 


MY  WINGS. 

AFTER   LEARXIXG   TO  SKATE. 

LET  angels  wear,  at  Art's  decree, 
The  eagle's  ponderous  pinions, 

And  nondescriptal  hybrids  be 
'Twixt  fowl  and  fair  dominions; 

For  me  a  less  imposing  pair, 

A  humbler  flight  suffices; 
My  wings  upon  my  feet  I  wear, 

As  Mercury's  device  is. 

And  when  the  winds  add  theirs  to  mine, 
And  come  from  favoring  quarters, 

As  he  o'erflies  with  his  the  skies, 
So  I  with  mine  the  waters. 

Their  magic  strokes,  like  fairy's  wand, 
To  warmer  realms  transport  me, 


MY   WINGS.  110 

And  fairer  openings  beyond 
Flash  luringly  athwart  me; 

And  bluer  heavens  above  me  bend, 

And  softer  winds  attend  me, 
And  spell-bound  deeps  their  service  lend 

To  forward  and  befriend  me. 

The  waters  from  their  wintry  walls 

Seem  into  billows  breaking, 
The  snow-drifts  change  to  foamy  falls, 

The  woods  to  life  are  waking, 

And  haste  to  meet  me  in  my  flight, 

And,  all  my  joy  repeating, 
Wave  with  delight  their  summits  bright, 

And  bend  to  give  me  greeting. 

When  poised  upon  my  wings  I  float, 

The  blue  above  and  under, 
The  earth  each  moment  more  remote, 

More  near  the  world  of  wonder ; 


120  MY  WINGS. 

And  all  the  winds  come  sweeping  by, 
With  spirit  voices  freighted, 

I  wonder,  with  delight,  if  I 
Am  dreaming  or  translated. 


CHARADE. 
(HAREBELL.) 

MY  first  in  freedom  loves  to  play 

Where  forest  leaves  are  falling, 
Startled  at  every  sound  astray, 

Or  woodland  voices  calling; 
Among  the  fern  leaves  far  away, 

"With  the  wild  winds  a  ranger, 
Almost  as  airy  fleet  as  they 

At  any  thought  of  danger. 

My  second  on  all  festal  days 

Rings  out  a  joyous  clamor; 
The  toiler  leaves  his  weary  ways, 

The  school-boy  drops  his  grammar. 
It  speaks  in  solemn,  warning  tones, 

Whene'er  the  people  need  them, 
But  pours  in  annual  jubilee 

Its  loudest  peal  for  freedom. 


122  CHARADE. 

My  whole,  along  the  green  hillside 

And  through  the  mountain  passes, 
Inclines  its  graceful  head  to  greet 

The  little  country  lasses. 
The  graceful  grasses  at  its  feet 

For  downward  glances  bless  it; 
It  only  lifts  its  blue  eyes  sweet, 

When  the  wild  winds  caress  it. 


CHRISTMAS  CARDS. 

(WITH  FLOWERS.) 

WINTRY  skies  may  threat  and  lower, 
And  the  snow  in  hills  be  hurled ; 

Love  can  conjure  leaf  and  flower, 
Love  will  warm  the  world. 


(WITH  SCISSORS.) 

May  this  little  token  be  an  emblem 
Of  the  tender  love  between  us  twain, 

Feeling  a  bond  of  union  even  when  parted, 
And  parted  but  to  quickly  meet  again. 


Though  stern  winter  with  icy  chains 

Fetters  land  and  sea, 
In  my  heart  perpetual  summer  reigns 

At  the  thought  of  thee. 


124  CHRISTMAS  CARDS. 

What  can  I  send 
To  my  darling  friend 
All  beautiful  gifts  above  ; 
With  all  that  is  sweetest  and  best 
Already  divinely  blest, 

What  can  I  send  but  love  ! 


Relentlessly  each  rolling  year 

Of  some  old  friend  bereaves  us, 
But  the  contracting  circle  brings  more  near 
And  makes  more  indispensable  and  dear 
The  few  that  heaven  leaves  us. 


WITH  BIRDS. 


'T  is  love  inspires  us  and  elates, 
In  every  season  song  impelling ; 

Love  every  little  throat  inflates, 

And  all  our  songs  of  love  are  telling. 


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